The Roger Diaries
by x Rajah x
Summary: The untold secrets of Roger Davis. Roger... a princess? Or more excitingly, a butt model? The unedited version of Your Eyes? His true feelings about Mark? His middle name? And what does all this have to do with a fortune cookie? Only one way to find out..
1. Introduction

Hey! We have returned… you may remember us from _The Roger Theories_. It is us! HOORAY! (Yep, the author's link may say that this is just Arie, but… in REALITY it is Arie and her cuz… AGAIN! Which means that is basically a recipe for disaster.

Sarah: Like muffin recipes? (is hyped on muffins)

Arie: Um… sure… Sarah… like muffin recipes. Whatever makes you feel special.

Sarah: Ok, we should probably start the story now.

Arie: NOOOOOOOOOOOO. Ok.

This is the companion piece to our first epic ROGER analysis-kamambob. Yes, that's what it was. This however is not a listfic. (Which according to Microsoft Word is not a word.)

OK THIS IS IMPORTANTE. MUY IMPORTANTE! (We're in Spanish class, can you tell?) If we have author's notes in the story (which we likely will) they will appear in **BOLD and BRACKETS.**

If there are **PARENTHESES **that is the **CHARACTER, who is, in this case. ROGER. As in, ROGER DAVIS. **Not to be confused with Roger Davies from Harry Potter.

Sarah: Ok, I think this is a long enough note, because we also have an introduction. And these people don't care about our lives.

Arie: Yeah. It's the RENT peoples' lives they care about. They're more interesting anyway.

Ok, that is all.

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_INTRODUCTION_

_(to be pronounced in a very strange accent, like so: IN-TRRRODUCCTIIIOONNN!)_

Let's see… it says in our notes for our introduction that we need to _put something_. Hmmmm. Well, we suppose then. We should _put something. _Hold on, let us clear our throats. Ok, that was nasty, we're glad you didn't actually hear that.

Readers: GET ON WITH THE INTRODUCTION ALREADY!

Ok, alright. PUSHY. Anyway… this introduction is basically the story of how we GOT the story. If that makes sense.

Let us begin with a question: You know that journal that Roger writes _Your Eyes _in on that bus? Well, that's NOT JUST FOR SONGWRITING.

How do we know this, you ask? We're kinda sorta looking at it right now. (It has Hello Kitty on the front… cute, Roger.)

And how did we come to acquire such a valuable object? Boy, you guys are just full of questions today.

Here's the scoop. We went to New York City, you know, to see Adam and Anthony come back to the show, you know? And just might have gone on the "full RENT Tour" of NYC. We went to the Life Café, Tompkins Square Park, and the East

Village. Whilst eating our thirteen orders of fries, we decided to go "urban exploring".

We wandered through Alphabet City, because we were determined not to ignore the chances of accidentally happening to stumble upon Mark and Roger's awesome loft pad.

Well… that's what happened. True story. We FOUND their loft. And… (Added BONUS) the door was conveniently unlocked. So technically what we did next could not be classified as "breaking and entering". Merely "entering." And since when is ENTERING someplace illegal? Since NEVER!

Is it? If so… well, don't tell anyone. Pwease?

So, how exactly did we know that this glorious living space was indeed the loft of the Boho Boys? And not some similarly decorated (with trash, empty bottles, dust, etc.) apartment?

It's quite simple. There, draped over that ratty old chair was a blue and white striped scarf.

At that moment, we smelled Mark. (Not literally.)

But that's not all. Nearby was a beaten-up Fender guitar case.

Sniff. Sniff sniff sniffity sniff. And the aroma of Roger wafted to our nostrils.

So… we did what any naturally obsessed and excited RENThead would do. WE RAIDED THEIR FRIDGE! (There wasn't much in there… the only thing we found that was of any interest was this bunch of grapes with this weird fuzzy stuff ALL OVER them.)

That's in my kitchen right now. (No, no really!)

OH! But there was Captain Crunch sitting on their countertop. It tasted yummy.

After that, OF COURSE we went through their belongings! And we aren't ashamed. WE PUT EVERYTHING BACK.

Well. Almost everything… ahem. We are not stalkers. Just because we stole a pair of their underwear (in Roger's case, plaid boxers) and have them mounted on our wall DOES NOT MAKE US STALKERS.

But that's not what we're here to tell you about. In the bathroom, between the toilet and wall (Why were we looking there? Well, we did tell you we went through EVERYTHING. We kinda meant it.) was a treasure of immeasurable proportions.

_This diary_.

This of course made us wonder if Roger writes in his diary while on the toilet. But that's beside the point. (What? It is a GOOD QUESTION!)

So here's what we're going to do. It is our duty to you (because of COURSE we took the DIARY!) to select the most interesting, entertaining and JUICY entries from said diary.

Here's the catch: Roger can't find out. So… you as readers must cooperate with us on this. We'll give you the stories, and YOU will say absolutely NOTHING about us doing so.

That clear?

Because Roger would be SO ANGRY! And the last thing we want is for Roger to be ANGRY with us. We LOVE him so very much… and then he probably wouldn't give us a hug! Oh, the terror!

So, if we have come to some sort of understanding about the situation, you may proceed to reading the entries we will provide. If not, GO AWAY MEANIES!


	2. Forgive Me, For I Have Sinned

Arie: Hey, do we need a note of us talking at the top like in the last part?

Sarah: No, no. They've had enough of us talking. They probably hate us. They want some ROGER now.

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Dear Diary,

Forgive me, Diary, for I have sinned. I did something bad today… I lied to Mimi. I'm not cheating on her… I would never do that in (um… is trillion a number? Well, I'll be safe and say KABILLION years. I'm positive that's a number.)

But it is WORSE than that. MUCH MUCH WORSE.

It all started when I found Mimi's driver's license on her countertop and picked it up. At first, I just wanted to see her picture, because normally people's pictures are really bad. Hers wasn't too bad… which lowered my self-esteem because mine SUCKS. Of course, she ALWAYS looks good. Even in the morning when she first wakes up! This also makes me feel bad because my hair looks like a rat's nest in the morning. (Even though MARK says it always does.)

STUPID MARK WITH… STUPID STRIPEY THING AROUND HIS NECK… AND HIS STUPID… YEAH, GOD!!!!!

But I'll discuss that later. Back to begging for forgiveness.

I happened to notice that Mimi's full name was _Mimi Maria Mercedes Marquez. _And I was like, "HEY, you have TWO middle names! HEY, your middle names are Maria and Mercedes! HEY, your first name starts with an M! Oh em gee! Your last name starts with and M! HEY, your initials are M and M and M and M! You have a yummy name. Because even without your middle names, your initials are M and M… like the candy! GASP! M and M and M and M make an _mmmm _sound! Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup… POSSIBILITES! But before that, their motto… it used to be… MMMM MMMM GOOD! HEY, like your name! Holy shitnerds, your parents named you after soup and candy!"

After this, she slapped. I don't understand why. But no matter. Because I'm supposed to be atoning for my sins. I get distracted easily.

Like right now, I wasn't even talking about my sins!

Ok, right… to the story. So after she slapped me, I was like, "I wish I had an M in my name." Then she asked me what my middle name was.

This is when the _sin_niness part comes in. I told her it was GREGORY. I thought it sounded masculine. Roger GREGORY Davis. Good, strong name.

But isn't not mine.

Sure the first and last parts are right, but my middle… (deep breath) is… Elizabeth. You don't believe me, do you? Well, all the better. That's one reason I hate my parents… you see, when I was born, they hung this sign in the yard that said, "IT'S A BOY! ROGER ELIZABETH DAVIS!" Apparently, I'm related to a long line of English Queens.

I thought of that Queen part while I was standing there in Mimi's apartment and I blurted out without thinking (as I tend to do). "I could be a princess!"

She didn't get it. But I could be, Diary! I could be a princess!

**[Authors' Note: We don't think he realized that he would be a PRINCE, and we think he should watch more Disney movies.**

But you see, Mimi didn't seem to understand it. Either that or she was secretly jealous. I mean, isn't it EVERY girl's dream to be a princess? (I know it's mine!)

Anyway, Mimi just acted sort of confused. I couldn't even begin to explain it, because at this point the EXTREME GUILT from the lie I told her had set in. I suddenly felt horrible, and had an urge to crawl into a damp, dark hole and sob.

I think Mimi noticed my change in mood, and maybe thought she hurt my feelings by not understanding the princess comment. She wrapped her arms around me in a sweet little hug.

It was pleasant, but I was feeling so GUILTY that I scarcely found enjoyment in it. After all, Diary, did I deserve her affection after lying to her?

No. I didn't.

So, I'm here asking for redemption… from you… or the Big Man Upstairs. Please forgive me.

Yours Truly,

XOXOXOXO

Roger Elizabeth Davis


	3. MarkRoger Time

Arie: Sorry if the chapter title got you MarkRoger romance shippers all excited and happy. This is not a romantic diary entry. AT ALL!

Sarah: We don't support that relationship.

Arie: I mean, sure that's fine if you do and all… but I still don't understand how you can support it if it makes no sense! I mean, neither Mark nor Roger is gay… Jonathan Larson wrote them to be the way they are in the movie/musical… so why do you have to randomly slap them together and call it love…?

Sarah: Ok… that's enough. I've heard it all before…! Not necessary, not at all. Let's just give them the new diray entry.

Arie: You mean DIARY entry? Geesh, Sarah you spell things wrong even when you're talking!

Sarah: Shut up, this isn't about my spelling…!

Arie: Kay, it's time for some Rogerlio!

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Dear Diary,

Recently I have taken to observing my roommate, Mark Cohen. There are several things I would like to note about him.

First, he has an unusual obsession with two objects in his life: his scarf and his camera. I hate it how he always has to wear that dirty, worn-for-a-lifetime or who-knows-how-long piece of moth-eaten blue and white striped fabric. I bet there are small mammals and birds nesting in it. I mean, the guy SLEEPS with it. Not in that dirty nasty way you're thinking with your sick perverse mind, Diary. I merely meant to say he WEARS it while sleeping. Sexual activity with non-living objects… wait, anything that isn't human… is disturbing.

I hope you know that I would never take advantage of you like that, Diary.

Back to the God-forsaken scarf. It reminds me of a snake. When he first got it, I screamed, "HOLY SHITNERDS! MARK! GET that snake off your NECK! It'll STRANGLE you!!!!" And then I whipped that ugly ass thing off his neck and began to hit it repeatedly with a hockey stick. (If you're wondering, I don't know why we had a hockey stick in the loft… maybe one of the homeless people that Mark films gave it to him. But wait… if they're homeless, why the hell would they have a spare hockey stick?)

I'm weird… but you already knew that, didn't you, Diary? You're a smart marshmallow. You're a smart crunchy marshmallow. You're a smart crunchy burnt marshmallow… mmmm… now I'm hungry.

But going back to Mark. He was really angry because he thought I was making fun of him and his New Scarf Glory… but I really thought it was a snake! And you know, the brightly-colored stripy ones are ALWAYS the poisonous kind!

Anyway, The Camera is also pretty annoying. He's ALWAYS winding that piece of shit up and shoving it in my face… when I'm doing normal things, like my day-to-day activities. You know… playing my guitar, or eating? I really don't want to be filmed eating… IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR? GOSH!

And besides I never feel like I can just sit there while he's filming. Its' like when he rounds that lens upon me I HAVE to do something important.

You know, I don't handle pressure well, Diary! (sniffsniff sobsob)

I miss those golden days… back when it was just me and Mark. You know? Before his not-so-secret lover, The Camera came along. That dumb thing has come between us… and DESTROYED a beautiful relationship! Our friendship is in tatters… you know, I think if it was a person… like a GIRLFRIEND, I wouldn't mind as much. But to know that he's blowing me off for that unsightly piece of scrap metal does a number on my sensitive heart.

I WANT MARKROGER TIME!

I thought me and Marky were supposed to be BESTEST friends. FOREVER and EVER and EVER…. and EVER! Like two far out peas in a pod, man! But NOOOOOO!

Wait! I can't believe this. I'm JEALOUS of a CAMERA? Me, the great Roger Davis, ex-rock god, JEALOUS…. OF A CAMERA? Oh… I've sunk lower than I thought.

I need a hug.

I'll have to talk to Mark about this, I guess. The Camera is TEARING US APART! Oh no… he'll move The Camera into my room and kick me out! I foresee the future… and it's terrifying. I'll have to talk to Mark and SOON.

I'll be sure to keep you posted on that, Diary.

The second major observation is that when Scarf Boy gets really frustrated or feels threatened, he brings his hands up to his chin and spreads his fingers apart. It reminds me remarkably… (Haha, reMARKably… I'm a genius!) Yeah, he reminds me of one of those frilled lizards.

**[Authors' Note: If you want to see Anthony Rapp doing this, just look at the front cover of the OBC recording… it's funny.**

This one time, I got really angry because I thought he stole the ashes of my late teddy bear, Mister McFumms. He felt threatened and did his frilled lizard thing. Minutes later, I found the Ziploc bag containing the ashes on the countertop, so I tried to apologize. But he was still freaked out and he HISSED at me and ran to his room.

He didn't come out for two days. I had to slide some food under the door so he didn't starve.

The third thing I've noticed is that Mark an unhealthy fetish: filming random homeless people. I'm worried about him. He just disappears for hours on end to film complete strangers. He always claims he's "making a documentary" but I have yet to see even a rough draft of said project. What the hell is a documentary, anyway? Sounds boring… _mundane._

And you know, Mark has no sense of direction whatsoever. He could get lost! It's a big city! I mean this one time, we were visiting his great-grandmother in Boston and he kept on thinking that we were in Chicago. Yeah, that bad.

The last thing I'd like to present is the fact that Mark is extremely PALE. Like pure WHITE. Collins has told me of his theory that Mark is an albino pumpkinhead, but I thought albinos had red eyes? Mark's are blue.

Besides, his head looks more like a strawberry than a pumpkin.

GASP! I think Mark is related to CASPER! Casper has blue eyes… doesn't he? CASPER THE FRIENDLY GHOST! Mark is a strawberry ghost, and that's that.

Much love,

XOXOXOXOXO

Roger Elizabeth Davis


	4. When Is Friendship Ever Wrong?

Rajah: I am still the same person. I just have a new name... Rajah, not Arie. If you noticed.

Sarah: I'm still Sarah. Just... Sarah.

Rajah: Yawn. Kay, time for Roger. We needed him, we were going through Roger

withdrawal.

Sarah: Ouch. X(

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Dear Diary,

I was caught in a most shameful position today. Now, don't jump to conclusions, you nasty-minded book. I didn't even know books could be nasty-minded until I met you.

I'm normally hard to embarrass, except this time, it was UTTER MORTIFICATION. I might have even blushed. I know, right? Me... blush? Insanity. Just entertaining the thought is difficult.

So, I think you are going to need some background info in order to fully understand the situation. Okay, well... when everyone goes out to do... whatever it is that they do when they go out... I don't know... anyway, I've made it a habit to have a little get-together with my friends.

No, no... not the Bohemians. Well... um, let me explain. These are my under-recognized friends.

Let's see, I guess I'll go over the guest list of invites with you.

The first guest to arrive is always Lucinda. She's so loyal... I love her. I LOVE HER. And she always looks so nice... utterly RAVISHING. With her beautiful wood finish... gorgeous.

[Authors' Note: We think it is safe to assume that he is talking about his guitar here.

Shortly after Lucinda arrived, Mister McFumm's ashes, all that remains of my beloved teddy bear, appeared. He looked rather ASHY. I think I need to put him in a new plastic bag... his seems to be getting pretty dusty.

Next came Daisy, my trusty Heisman trophy. She looked exceptionally shiny, she tends to look really good in gold. I'm not sure how it is, exactly, that I was able to come by a Heisman trophy... seeing as I didn't go to college, but somehow I was a football star... a Heisman winner, even. My awesomeness has no limits, it seems.

Niccolo, our (Italian) hot plate came in fashionably late. He didn't even apologize! But oh well, he's such a card, that Niccolo. A blast at parties.

I served them all, like the perfectly polite host I am. In this case, we were dining upon cake batter, served in a big bowl. And of course, I poured hot tea for everyone. It was a highly sophisticated tea party, you see. I'd even pressed my plaid pants for the occasion.

The party had just gotten underway when I noticed a lonely soul flung across the floorboards nearby. Mimi's fishnet leggings.

How they came to be in this location is of little importance to this story, and it's none of your business either, you nosy BUSYBODY diary!

But anyway, the leggings looked so alone, and I have a big heart, so naturally, I invited them into the shindig. I felt for the little things. They didn't say much or even give their name... or would it be names? I'm not quite sure exactly how it works with identical twins. I've never met a pair before. The poor things... I think they were shy, and scared. I mean, they HAD just spent the night in an unfamiliar place.

Oh shit, that's giving hints about how they got there on the floor. Well, I WILL NEVER ELABORATE! Even if you strap me to a chair and hit me over the head with Lucinda.

Please don't.

I don't want her to get hurt. I don't care about me, just DON'T HURT LUCINDA!

Yeah... so going back to the story... the conversation was going well and all the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves, even the fishnets! I had just gotten them to open up a bit when the door opened...

... and in walked Mark, Collins, Mimi, and Angel.

I FROZE!

LITERALLY!

I didn't blink for like, five straight minutes. I think they were worried that there was something wrong with me, and not just because I was having a secret tea party with inanimate objects, but because I don't think it even looked like I was breathing.

They stared at me for a long time, but then Mark and Collins started laughing at me. (Not with me.) I couldn't have laughed even if I tried because it was...

NOT.

FUNNY.

I WAS JUST TRYING TO HAVE A TEA PARTY WITH MY FRIENDS THAT I DON'T GET TO TALK TO VERY OFTEN. IS THAT SO WRONG?

WHEN IS FRIENDSHIP EVER WRONG?

Okay, rant over.

But then, Angel, bless her heart, flounces over and pulls up a chair, pouring herself a cup of tea and making small talk.

"Hi, I'm Angel, in case Roger has mentioned me. Have you mentioned me before, Roger?"

I nodded dazedly, still mostly paralyzed.

Then, Mimi, looking sad, stuck out her bottom lip and pouted at me. "You were having a tea party... and you didn't invite me?!!!"

Tea cup still poised in midair, I replied rather stoically, my voice shaking a bit. "S-sorry, Meems... I d-didn't, um... know that you'd want to be invited."

"Well, of course, I would have wanted to come!"

So I patted the seat beside me and she happily joined in. "Angel, can you pass the teapot over here?"

"Sure thing, chica." Angel said cheerfully, then she turned to Collins. "Come on, baby, there's plenty of tea, have a seat."

And so, Collins joined in.

Mimi, sipping her steaming cup, looked at me, as I started to unfreeze myself and go back to the gathering. Then she asked, "Um... Roger? Why are you serving tea to my leggings?"

"Well, they looked sort of lonely, and so I invited them to join... and I was going to ask you, what are their names?"

Silence. Mimi looked puzzled.

"Because they're really shy. They didn't mention their names, and the tag says something like... um... Victoria's Secret. Does that mean one's named Victoria and the other's named Secret? Secret's an exotic name."

"Roger...what?"

Meanwhile, Mark stood there, looking dumb.

He started to film us, still looking quite astonished. I really hope he doesn't use that footage for his so-called documentary. It might look a little odd amongst the homeless people.

Luv you,

XOXOXOXOX

Roger Elizabeth Davis


	5. Feathers and Pecks

Sarah: OMG, we're back!!

Rajah: Finally, GOSH, Sarah, it's all your fault.

Sarah: Hey, I had to put on a play in which I played a ragpicker, alright?

Rajah: Psssh okay, I forgive you. Well, we're not dead, obviously. So hi!

We'd like to thank our reviewers so far. You guys rock!!!

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Dearest Diary,

Not many people know this[A.N.: Except for those of you who read our last story… ;) but I have befriended, over the course of my years in New York, a gaggle of pigeons. I feed them on the rooftop in my random chair, and they peck at the ground I walk on. Yes, by that I am referring to them eating what I throw on the ground for them AND like, worshipping me.

You see, it's not like the birds can kiss the ground I walk on, because they don't have lips. Birds can't even kiss at all… OHMIGOD THAT'S TERRIBLE! They will never know what it feels like to be kissed, those poor little deprived creatures… I AM GOING TO GO OUTSIDE AND KISS EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM ON THEIR WITTLE BWURDY BEAKS RIGHT NOW! Be right back…

I'm back. I kissed them all. I hope I don't get that bird flu thing… I don't think the whole AIDS situation would help with that… maybe I should go scrub my teeth… be right back again.

Here I am. I couldn't find my toothbrush, so I used the kitchen sponge. It was kind of soapy…but it's only the thing we use to clean our dishes, no harm done! Mark gave me a funny look, but said nothing. I guess he didn't disapprove.

ANYWAY, back to the pigeons. I WANT TO TELL YOU, in great detail, about EACH PIGEON… so that when I die, someone can take care of them.

Mark, if I'm dead, that means you.

Mark, if I'm not dead, and you found this, and you're reading it, I WILL SCALP YOU WITH A POTATO PEELER!! AND BURY YOU ALIVE IN A GARDEN OF PUMPKINS! ALBINO PUMPKINS!

And… if two random girls who are obsessed with me, STEAL this and post it on the Internet, I WILL SIC A MURDEROUS MUTANT SHEEP ON THEM!

[A.N.: Oh shit.

PIGEONS! YES! I WAS TALKING ABOUT MY BEAUTIFUL PIGEONS!

I'm going to start with Andrew. I don't exactly why I named him Andrew. It's just a good strong pigeon name. He was my first pigeon friend that I met when I came here from Scarsdale. Andrew doesn't do much, except eat and poop. He's also a little overweight now, I don't want to hurt his feelings or anything, but he is… NOT FAT. Fat is just DEGRADING. He's plump… no! Husky. Husky sounds sexy. NOT THAT I THINK PIGEONS ARE SEXY, nasty-minded diary, GEESH! I don't go that way, no sir. And... I'm off topic… AGAIN. Better just move on to the next pigeon.

Who is… April. This is actually quite a simple concept, but you may not get it. Mehhh, makes sense to me. Okay so… (sniffsniff) this pigeon came to me on the day that April died, in my time of great need… and she has stuck around ever since, I'm convinced that this pigeon is April… reincarnated. Don't give me that look, Diary. It's April, seriously! Also, once April tried to peck Mimi's eyes out, she might have been jealous… well, if she's so jealous, maybe she shouldn't have… OKAY, I'M GOING TO MOVE ON TO THE NEXT PIGEON BEFORE I START SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY… which is bad for my tough guy vibes.

Next is Elphaba. I call her Elphie for short. She is very special… because she has a greenish hue to her feathers. And she transcends the mundane with her unique personality… But defying gravity isn't difficult for her to do, because she's a pigeon, and she can fly and shit.

Oohh… I found a purple pen! Prettyyyy.

Ahem.

Next we have Steve McQueen. He's a speedy one. And a very good actor. Sometimes I play charades with my pigeons… the others mostly just flap their wings around; they could be acting like ANYTHING really. But you can tell what Steve McQueen is acting like. I mean, if he's trying to be a choochoo train, then you can damn well tell (Hey, that rhymes! That's my songwriting spirit, right there. Rhyme Mastah!) that he is a choochoo train. And there is a distinct difference between his choochoo train and his chestnut tree. Do chestnuts grow on trees? Oh well. Hm. In charades, you can never tell what Paul is being (but at least he has more imagination than Captain Jack Pigeon, who decides to act like a pirate all the time! I mean, COME ON! It gets pretty obvious after awhile!)

Moving on to Paul. You may be wondering why his name is Paul. Well, there's this guy at Life Support, I might have mentioned him to you before, Diary… named Paul. Okay, so this is in no way saying that Paul looks like a pigeon, merely that a pigeon looks like Paul. Paul is a beautiful person, the only bird-like attribute he has is that he kind of waddles when he walks, but this pigeon! His face… it screams Paul. Like this: PAUUULLLLLLLL!

Okay, so, Captain Jack Pigeon. Yes, the bird has dreadlocks. Oh, oh, this one time… Mark and the rest of my posse, my homies… them… uh… we all went to this restaurant together. Of course, Mark HAD to order the Soup of the Day… um, I think it was vegetable beef and it came with a baguette. Mark has some hearty and sophisticated tastebuds, ok? Anyway, none of those cooks wore hairnets and so I had to complain because Mark was too busy barfing his guts out into Angel's pickle tub. She was like, "Ugh, that is TRIFLING! I am getting myself a new pickle tub!" So anyway, I had to scream, "WAITER! WAITER! WAITER!" in this really obnoxious voice and when he finally decided to mosey his ass over there, I was like, "EXCUSE ME, but this is unacceptable, there is a DREADLOCK in my friend's soup! Yes… he's the one barfing! I'm calling my lawyer, if this is how you care about the well-being of your customers!" Of course, when I said "lawyer", Joanne did a little whoop-whoop dance across the table from me, and said, "That's me, bitch! J to the O to the A-N-N-E! That's me!" And then she did the splits. I didn't know she could do that. That's all folks…well for Captain Jack Pigeon, it is. Don't think about leaving yet…!

On to…hm… Riff! Y'all be knowin' 'bout dat dere West Side Story. Am I right or am I wrong? Don't you why I be talkin' like this. Anyway! Riff has brain damage. I don't know why, maybe it involved a bunch of people yelling, "Gee, Officer Krupke!" and SMACK! He did get into a fight with a Puerto Rican pigeon named 'Nardo once.

[A.N.: How can you possibly look at a pigeon and just decide that it is Puerto Rican? Riff has a social disease… along with that brain damage. He just doesn't get along with the other pigeons as well as he should, and it is sad. He is SICK, he is SICK, he is SICK, SICK, SICK! He is SOCIOLOGICALLY SICK! I talk to him though, and I think we really connect. I know what it is like to be a loner, after all. You know, INDEPENDENT.

A new pigeon.

Can it be? Can it be… Christine? BRAVA, BRAVA! You know what sound a pigeon makes? Well, in case you don't, they say: coocoocooocoooo! Okay, so Christine is a gifted opera pigeon. When she says, COOCOOCOOO, people DIE! It's so beautiful… they want to hear it again, but they can't because they DIED!! They can't comprehend how such a pretty sound can come from a pigeon. They don't UNDERSTAND PIGEONS! But I do, hence, I haven't died (yet.) because of Christine. I am a proud member of the PIGEON NATION. I did pass out once, when I first heard her coocoooocooo. Of course, I was out cold, but Mark and Collins told me the story.

Mark was looking around for me because I guess I was out for awhile. So he came up to the roof and saw me lying there with the pigeons all around me. Of course the pigeons were all just trying to make sure I was okay, but Mark didn't know that, because Mark doesn't speak pigeon. He thought the pigeons were killing me.

Mark was like, "OH MY GOD! AHHH! AHHHHH! THE PIGEONS! AAAHHHH! THEY KILLED ROGER! THEY'RE GOING TO EAT HIM! AHHH!"

Collins heard all of this and came on to the roof. He said, "What the hell, Mark? What did you DO TO ROGER?!! That was my homeboy, right there! Now he's dead, what did you do to him?"

Mark answered, "I…I… uh… duh,duh…duh… THE PIGEONS! IT WAS THE PIGEONS! COLLINS, THEY'RE GOING TO EAT US ALL!" And he started shaking Collins by the shoulders.

Collins looked around. "Mark. I don't see any pigeons…. I'm not calling you a liar… because your screams were louder than 26 fire engines going at once! But this is beside the point, I think Roger needs medical attention… he's not moving, Mark."

So they took me to the hospital and when I came around 17, 280 minutes later… _how do you measure… twel-el-elve days…thatIwasinacoma? _I told them, "Stay away from that roof, if you know what's good for you…. alright, guys?"

Collins just looked confused. "Whatever, man."

Mark screamed, hysterical and in a panic, "It was the PIGEONS, wasn't it? WASN'T IT?"

"That information is classified. Just… beware, ok?" I responded. I couldn't have the, dying from hearing Christine, after all. Since then, Mark has never trusted the pigeons, or the roof for that matter.

Anyways… who else is there… oh, Kiki! I swear to God, that bird, that Kiki… she's immortal! I saw her fly into a telephone wire once and she got electrocuted and fell down to the ground. Then, she just got back up and kept on flying like it was nothing.

Next we have Dupree. Dupree is, in two words, a LAZY ASS. That bird is so damn lazy, I mean, I do EVERYTHING I can for the flock… he doesn't contribute a single freaking bit to the Pigeon Nation. And he takes a shit on my shoulder all the time. I mean, COME ON! I do NOT want shit on my shoulder… why can't he just fly away and shit somewhere else like all of the others? I'm sure the flock has a communal shit region somewhere on the roof… I haven't dared to search for it. But, GRRR, Dupree's so frustrating… you know, every family's gotta have that one person who is so damn annoying, but everyone loves him anyway. That's Dupree. I mean, it's not like we can have a little Flock Council and say, "Dupree, your flock has spoken…" And like, snuff out his metaphorical pigeon torch…. Nah, he's a good bird, good bird.

Then we have little Leo… Leo Bloom. He needs protection from the flock… I mean, he's a brilliant little guy with the books but he's easily manipulated. We always have a pigeon keeping an eye on him so he doesn't get hurt. He has this little blue blanket that I brought up to the roof, and it's all balled up in the corner for him… he sleeps in it and it is sooooooooooo cute. But if you touch it, like I mean even ACCIDENTALLY BRUSH it, he puffs out and hyperventilates like a pufferfish. A squawking pufferfish.

Lastly, we have Roxie Hart. Roxie's a wannabe starlet. She takes tips from Christine on the singing sometimes, but she's aiming for more of a… jazz thing instead of opera. There's not much to say about her besides that.

Those be my peeps… my little adorable feathered BABIES! Hm… I hear that birds descend from the dinosaurs… that's so NEAT! I have a flock of dinosaurs on my roof!

Feathers and pecks,

Roger Elizabeth Davis.


	6. Your Pies

Mufasa: Rawr, I'm a lion! Heed my lion logic! However sad it may be that RENT is leaving Broadway, you must not fret. For… it lives… in _youuuuuu,_ Simba. I am Mufasa and I approve this message, bitches.

Sarah: (giggling) I LIKKEEE MUFFAAASSSAA.

Rajah: SIMBA, I AM YOUR FATHAH. With an H, yeah… that's gangsta.

Sarah: Why did Mufasa have to die in that movie?

Rajah: Because Disney likes one parent families. Deal with it.

Sarah: BUT MUFASA'S THE BOMB! (Diggity)

------------

DIARY!

Sorry I screamed, I'm freaking out. Ok? I NEED TO WRITE A SONG! I'm on a bus back to New York and if I come back without a song, I will look like such a loser, like a loser that can be stretched around the entire surface of the world. In other words, I'll look like a loser that was morbidly _husky _and lost like 525,600 pounds of huskiness… and just has a ton of extra skin hanging off. EW, I'll be flabby! If I wave hello to Mark when I get back, my arm will be flopping around in the wind like a freaking FLWAAHAAWAAHFWLAHAAWA.

Yes, that's a word, Diary.

Seriously though, I need help. I'm going to brainstorm on you. Wow, that sounds so scandalous.

So, here's what I got: I know I want the song to be about Mimi. I mean, I have to sing it for her, duh. I mean, why would I write a song about Mark and sing it to Mimi? That would be ridiculous! Besides, any song about Mark would be teeming with pumpkin references and pumpkin just doesn't roll off the tongue.

Soooo what do I like about Mimi…… hmmmm…….

I like her ass.

Her boobs.

Her dancing.

Umm I don't know if she'd like me writing a song about her lady bits though.

I like her hair in the moon light.

Her smile… but that reminds me of April so I won't go in to that.

Ummm…ooh! She makes these really good chocolate chip cookies from scratch… they're DELICIOUS! But um… wow, I just imagined singing to her about her famous cookie recipe… her face, like her reaction… well, it's not what I'm aiming for in my mind.

Le sigh.

What am I supposed to write about then?

OWWW! What the fuck? This idiot kid in front of me shot me in my freaking eyeball with his damn Nerf gun! Dumbass kid, what the hell is his problem! Excuse me a sec; I need to spit profanities at him.

I'm back… with an ingenious idea. Thanks to that GLORIOUS creature of a child, that amazing 11 year-old. Listen, so… I started writing profane message on little wads of paper and I spit a couple at him through a straw, and then, I just yelled, "What the hell, kid? I am trying to write a FREAKING song! AND YOU GO AND HIT MY EYE, GOSH!" Then, I paused. "Wait… hold the phone… eyes…._EYES! EYESSSSS!" _

So I got really excited. "EYES!" I yelled, at the old lady in front of me.

"What'd you say, honey?"

"EYEEESSSS!"

"You need ice?"

"EYEESS!" Then I looked at the man across the aisle from me. "EYES!!!!"

He just nodded slowly and replied, "Um… ok…. eyes."

Then there was this middle-aged lady was nearby so I turned to her in my elation and screamed, "EYES!"

She reached out and patted my shoulder lovingly. "Aw, listen little buddy, when the men in the white coats come for you… you behave extra good now, they'll take you to a happy place… and no matter what, Jesus will always love you."

I stared at her for a long minute and then pointed slowly at my eyes. "EYES! OW!" Yeah, I poked myself.

And then, there was this really muscular-looking dude on the other side of the lady. "EYY…" I started, but then I examined his guns and thought, _Maybe I'd better not do that… yeah, maybe not…_

He kind of slammed his fist into his other palm and glared at me like I killed his mother or something. So I left him alone.

Then, I turned to that little kid and gave him the biggest hug (A.N.: That kid got a ROGER hug! Squee.) and thanked him for shooting me in the eye and giving me inspiration. He looked a little scared and said, "Mommy…?"

His mother proceeded to slap my beautiful face… it left a red mark, GOD! Anyway, and she called me a pervert. I was like, "Uh uh, BITCH! Your kid just shot me in my freaking eye with a Nerf gun, and you're lucky I'm not beating his skinny ass right this minute! How do you like _them_ apples? TRIPLE SNAP ATTACK!" And I snapped my fingers three times in a zig-zag formation in front of me.

Alright, so here I am, ready to write. I'm going… to write a song… about… drumroll, please? _Mimi's eyes._

I know, great idea huh? Thank that random Nerf kid.

So… let's see now.

Um… hm.

Lalalalalala…..uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyeahyeahyeahyeahyeah…….uh, I think I'm having an episode.

Why does songwriting have to be so hard?

Ok, you know what? Time to show that Roger Davis has kahhoenies.

I can write a freaking song, even if it takes me a whole year, I can!

Well, first, I need some rhymes.

Hm… well, what rhymes with eyes? Let's make a list.

Pies, Fries, Lies, Cries, Sties, Flies, Sighs, Guys, Ties, Thighs, Dies, Skies, Goodbyes, Surprise, Baptize, Improvise, Wise, Shanghais, Nobel Prize, Size, Spies, Vandalize…

Let's try this.

_Your eyes, remind me of pies…the pies that my mommy makes, because they're yummy, and you're yummy… and whoa, this sucks._

Great song I have going here.

Um… let's try again.

_Your pies…_

Oh feces, this isn't about pies.

_Your eyes, are hot like French fries… but French fries are greasy and nasty. But your eyes AREN'T!_

Wow, that'll flatter her, alright.

Uh…

_Your eyes, never tell lies… damn it! Eyes can't even talk!_

Ah, I'm such a loser, I'm going to have flabby arms!

_Your eyes, remind me of wolf cries… ahhh fuck, eyes don't make noise! Why can't I seem to get this through my thick head, eyes don't talk or MAKE NOISES! GRRRR._

Oh wow, I think I just said that out loud and people are staring.

"Yeah, suck it, bitches! I'm writing a song!" Ok, now they're leaving me alone.

_Your eyes, are brown… like the mud in pig sties… only they don't smell like pig shit… actually they don't smell at all, at least I don't think they do… although I haven't actually put my nostrils up to your eyes before and smelled them… oh well, I don't think my nostrils are THAT sensitive, maybe a dog or something could smell them…_

What the FUCK am I even SAYING?

How does any of that fit a song-like pattern?

I'm screwed, Diary.

_Your eyes, aren't irritating like flies, there's a goddamn fly on the window of the bus, and it's distracting me… I'd like to smash it, but I don't want fly guts on my diary!_

Why did that one have to be the one that actually almost rhymed well?

_Your eyes, cause dreamy sighs…droooolllll._

Ah, I'm sorry, Diary, did I get you wet? Oh man, I don't want to sing to Mimi about my drool, COME ON! She already knows I drool in my sleep… she thinks it's gross.

_Your eyes, attract many guys… perverted ones at the Catscratch Club, that I'd like to castrate… well, I don't think it's your eyes they're looking at, but WHATEVER man, your eyes are pretty!_

I think it's…. getting better. Maybe a little?

_Your eyes, put my heart in ties…_

Too cheesy. WAYYY to cheesy. And soft, man. Besides, if my heart was in ties… well, that sounds painful… and um, it would cause serious medical problems. I don't want to tell Mimi she causes me serious medical problems… that's a secret.

_Your eyes, are tasty as chicken thighs… WAIT, why would I eat your eyes, that's gross!_

I take back what I said about it getting better. Ohhhh dear.

_Your eyes, are something I need to write about before this song dies…_

Hey, I like that part about the song dying. I'll use that later!

_Your eyes, aren't really like skies, because they're brown… and if the skies were brown, it would mean there's a shit storm rolling in…not saying your eyes look like shit or anything. They remind me of coffee more._

Wow. That. Sucked.

_Your eyes, as we said our goodbyes…_

Whoa. Wait, that was… _good. _Oh my good golly gosh, YES! I'm saving that one.

_Your eyes, that took me by surprise…_

Hm, that wasn't bad either. Something like that… wow, I'm a beast! RAWR.

_Your eyes, when they meet mine, I feel baptized._

What does that even mean? Oh, I think I just took a step backward…

_Your eyes, oohhh this song sucks so much it sounds like I'm improviseeee...ing on the spot._

Um. That's definitely not going to give her the right idea.

_Your eyes, why does distance make us wise?_

Hey, I can do this. I'm the Little Engine that Could, Man. Choochoo.

_Your eyes… shanghais?_

WHAT. THE. FUCK?!! That's one small step backwards, one giant leap from finishing this song.

_Your eyes, should win a Nobel Prize…_

It's a nice thought… but ehhh, I don't know, it's just doesn't…set the mood.

_Your eyes, are an abnormally large size…_

No.

_Your eyes, remind me of undercover spies… they're sneaky._

Wait, is that a good thing? Maybe not.

_Your eyes, do not vandalize… for they can't spray spray paint._

However true that maybe… no. Just no.

Let's just put some of the good ones together.

_Your eyes, the ones that took me by surprise, that night as we said our goodbyes, in the moonlight I see your eyes. _

Good so far, kind of.

_Your eyes, are my song… and before it dies…_

WAIT. WAAAAITTT… Mimi's the song. Not her eyes. WHOA. BRAIN BLAST!

I got this on lock now.

_Your Eyes _

_As We Said Our Goodbyes _

_Can't Get Them Out Of My Mind _

_And I Find I Can't Hide (From) _

_Your Eyes _

_The Ones That Took Me By Surprise _

_The Night You Came Into My Life _

_Where There's Moonlight _

_I See Your Eyes _

_How'd I Let You Slip Away _

_When I'm Longing So To Hold You _

_Now I'd Die For One More Day _

_'Cause There's Something I Should _

_Have Told You _

_Yes There's Something I Should Have _

_Told You _

_When I Looked Into Your Eyes _

_Why Does Distance Make Us Wise? _

_You Were The Song All Along _

_And Before The Song Dies _

_I Should Tell You I Should Tell You _

_I Have Always Loved You _

_You Can See It In My Eyes_

…. Did that come out of me? Wow, that's deep, man. Real deep.

Oh my God. I HAVE MY SONG!

Oh, Diary, I'm going to kiss you. The people on this bus already think I'm crazy, what have I got to lose?

Love you honey bunches of oats,

Roger Elizabeth Davis


	7. One Man's Broken Betty

Rajah: Wow, two entries in one night! Butter our butts and call us butter!

Sarah: That made no sense. What the heck are you saying, we need to have greasy butts so we can roll easily?

Rajah: (laughing hysterically) I meant "Butter our butts and call us biscuits!" Because… we're on a roll.

Sarah: I don't get it.

---------

Dear Diary,

I did it. I confronted Mark about The Camera… I don't even know what to say, really. The whole experience has left me emotionally drained. It was kind of like... an episode of Laguna Beach on steriods.

Well, I suppose I'll just start at the beginning.

I found my old Easy-Bake oven. Those things are AMAZING, that little battery cooks such fantastic food, it defies every law of physics… and I don't even know any laws of physics… or do I? (dundundun)

So, anyway, the Easy-Bake. I named her Betty Bottom Bought Some Bitter Butter. Great name, huh? Well, I call her Betty for short.

Anyway, I got all jazzed up about this glorious find and I ran across the loft to find Mark.

"MARKMARKMARK!!!! OMG, MARK!" I screamed like I was dying.

He was in the main room, winding his scarf slowly around his neck. (FUCKING PYTHON!) He looked up, startled. "What? What's wrong, Roger? Are you alright?"

"NO I'M NOT ALRIGHT!"

He looked really worried.

"I'M BETTER THAN ALRIGHT! LOOK…!" And I held Betty high. "I FOUND BETTY!"

There was a moment of pure silence. I assume Mark was trying to remember who Betty was, perhaps searching the loft for a woman, but then his eyes fell upon the Easy-Bake oven in my arms and I saw recognition flash through his mind.

He knows Betty, I mean back in the day, we were inseparable!

Mark, Collins, Betty and I used to make delicious concoctions together all the time. Ah, I remember Collins' special brownies… yeah man. Those were _good._

So, Mark stared at Betty for a minute then looked up at me. "You know, we have a hot plate now."

"MARK!" I shrieked. "How can you replace Betty with Niccolo? He's Italian, I mean… how can you form a bond with him, he can't speak English!"

He shook his head. "Roger… Betty doesn't speak English either. Betty doesn't even speak!"

I just looked at him like he was retarded, because he kind of was missing something huge. "You just don't get it, Mark… befriend Betty and Niccolo for real, and they'll share their secrets."

He gave me that look I so loathe, the one that looks like he's saying, _What the hell, Roger, you idiot!_

I tried to ignore that. He does it often enough for me to turn a blind eye to it.

"Anyway…" I began with a breath. "Mark, come on, let's bake some brownies! It'll be so much fun, just like we used to do….remember? They don't have to be special brownies, even! Come on!"

His eyebrows twitched nervously. "Uh… I was just leaving."

"WHAT COULD BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN BETTY AND AN AFTERNOON OF BROWNIE-BAKING GOODNESS?" Was my retort.

"I was actually… um, going to film for a bit."

Of course. I should have seen it coming. But you know what? Something pushed me over the edge. Rage gathered within me and I dropped Betty, breathing deeply and glaring at Mark like I could shoot daggers with my eyes.

If only I could.

He backed up a little. He looked kind of scared, and his hands rose a bit, almost finding his chin.

"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BLOW ME OFF FOR THAT STUPID CAMERA?!!! ANYTHING I TRY TO DO… LIKE, SOMETHING FOR US TO DO TOGETHER, YOU REJECT AND THEN CHOOSE THE CAMERA! YOU'RE GOING TO REPLACE ME WITH THAT PIECE OF JUNK, AREN'T YOU? THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE DOING! I KNOW, MARK! I'M NOT BLIND, OK? WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS WHY!!!!!!!!!!!" It all just exploded out of me like a tidal wave.

He blinked. "Roger… are you high?"

"ARE _YOU_ HIGH?" I shot back.

"Um….no!"

"WELL GOOD DRUGS ARE BAD!"

"Uh… Roger?"

"MARK, I AM TRYING TO BE SERIOUS HERE! LISTEN TO ME!"

"Um… I'm listening, I'm just… uh…." Mark tried to reply.

"JUST WHAT? JUST ABOUT TO LEAVE YOUR BEST FRIEND TO GO FILM WITH THAT CAMERA? BFFS, MARK! THAT'S WHAT WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE: BFFS! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN TO YOU… BFFS….BLOWOFF FRIEND FOR SEX?"

"I'm just filming with the Camera, jeez Roger… what do you think I do with it?" Mark seemed a little overwhelmed by my outburst, yet confused and kind of offended.

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW WHAT YOU DO WITH IT? YOU SLEEP WITH THAT DAMN SCARF FOR CORN'S SAKE!"

"If this going to be another Scarf Insult, I'm leaving." Mark stated flatly.

"NO, THIS IS ABOUT ME AND YOU AND THAT STUPID CAMERA… and HOW IT IS TEARING US APART!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Collins has told me all about what you're doing, Mark." I told him seriously.

"What did he tell you?" Mark asked, looking almost worried.

"Terrible, terrible things…" I gulped. "He said… that you… film HOMELESS PEOPLE!"

"Collins doesn't know shit about what I'm doing, Roger. I'm making a documentary."

_What the hell is a documentary? _"No, Mark, actually, Collins DOES know shit. He knows how to be a true friend and actually spend time with me, instead of BLOWING ME OFF FOR A STUPID INANIMATE OBJECT!"

"Ummm…. ok…." Mark began.

"He cares about real friendships, and when he told me what he knew about this 'documentary' thing, he was actually trying to help me, like a GOOD friend."

"Obviously, this isn't about Collins, Roger… so what are you getting at?" He was still a bit lost.

"It's like… I don't know you anymore." I sobbed. "Mark, you're breaking my heart! You're going down a path I can't follow!"

He looked even more puzzled and half-concerned. "Because of… my camera?"

"BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DO WITH THE CAMERA AND WHAT YOU DON'T DO WITH ME! BECAUSE YOU NEVER DO A DAMN THING WITH ME ANYMORE! MARKROGER TIME IS GONE! FREAKING GONE!" I was in hysterics.

He stared.

"STOP RIGHT NOW, MARK! STOP FILMING AND COME OVER HERE… WE'LL MAKE BROWNIES WITH BETTY AND BE HAPPY."

"Um…" Mark looked at the floor. "Roger, we…uhh… we can't really make brownies. I mean, I'd love to, but… Betty's in pieces, shattered on the floor."

It took me a moment to understand. "Whatchutalkin'bout, Willis?" And my eyes traveled to the floor, where Betty lay from when I dropped her, obviously broken beyond repair.

"BETTY!" I screamed, and fell to my knees beside the ruins. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

(A.N.: Wow, that goes on for awhile...)

So after that little episode, I went into the bathroom, you know to clean my face up… and stuff. I came out, and simply told Mark calmly that I wanted him to spend more time with me and less time with Cammy the Camera.

"Ok, Roger… I can do that." Mark replied honestly. "Why didn't you just say that in the first place instead of… well, whatever it is that you did?"

"WE SHOULD BURY BETTY!" I screamed suddenly and unexpectedly, causing Mark to do the frilled lizard thing.

I patted his back. "Yay, this can be something we can do together!"

"Um… Roger?" He said slowly. "We don't have like… a yard or anything, remember?"

I paused in thought.

"Maybe it's time for Betty to go to the Great Trash Heap in the Sky."

"NO!" I yelled. "MARK! This is BETTY we're talking about here!"

"Um… I know." Mark said simply.

"YOU CAN'T THROW BETTY AWAY!" I told him, spitting all over his face.

"Well… since we can't bury her… we can... turn her into a flower pot!" He suggested cheerfully.

Wow, was that a random suggestion or what? But it was… brilliant. I grabbed that little albino and hugged him. "YOU'RE AMAZING, MARK!"

"Thanks?" He said, as I cut off his breathing.

So, we went out and bought a fern. And some dirt.

And the moral of the story is: One man's broken Betty is another man's flowerpot.

Love you forever and ever,

Roger Elizabeth Davis


	8. The EnArminator

Rajah: WOW, THREE IN ONE NIGHT! WE'RE TALENTED! (Sips Wild Cherry Juice)

Sarah: (is struggling) HELP ME?

Rajah: Sarah, you screw-up, what do you need now?

Sarah: (mournfully) My straw won't go in.

Rajah: Oh gosh… (Struggles with straw for a minute) There. Gosh.

Sarah: Yay!

Rajah: (rolls eyes)

--------

Diary Mine,

I'm pretty happy right now, because Mark agreed to some quality MarkRoger time. He basically told me to come up with something for us to do… and he'd do it.

Whether that was smart of him or not… remains to be seen.

So, like you expected I would, I yelled, "OMG, MARK! LET'S PLAY SUPERHEROES!"

Again, a moment of quiet.

"What?"

"SUPERHEROES, MARK! YOU KNOW, LIKE THE ONES IN THE COMIC BOOKS! ONLY IT'LL BE BETTER BECAUSE IT'S YOU AND ME!"

"Roger…. wait, are you serious?" He needed reassurance for some reason.

"YES I'M FREAKING SERIOUS!" Then I took a breath. "Would I joke about such a thing as this?"

"Um… maybe… because, you _are _a grown man… um… it's kind of weird."

_Weird? Oh no he didn't!_

"Oh, puh-leaze, Mark, like you don't think it'll be fun." I said, rolling my eyes. "Besides, you said you'd do whatever I wanted us to do together, and I choose this. So ha! No way out."

He sighed a little. "Can't we just… play checkers or something?"

"Ch-ch-ch-checkers?" I retorted, "Mark, you _know_ I hate checkers."

"Fine, some other board game?"

"We're playing Superheroes, Mark. And that's FINAL." I told him authoritatively.

"Ok…" He agreed with a sigh.

"YES!" I punched the air, and then scooped Mark into a giant hug.

"Ok, enough hugging, alright?"

"But I like hugging!" I insisted. "It makes the world go 'round."

"Hey!" Mark said, as something came to him. "You can be… the EnArminator."

I laughed. "What the hell is an EnArminator?"

"Well… you know… you enarminate people… you know, give them hugs? With your arms… around them…. enarminate."

"I like it!" I squealed. "Ooh, and you can be my loyal sidekick, Scarf Boy!"

"Awwww, why do I have to be the sidekick?" Mark whined.

"Because I'm obviously bigger and tougher than you." He frowned, so I added, "And the sidekick gets to shout all the random phrases… like, 'Holy Bejeebus, EnArminator! It's… (insert bad guy's name here).'"

"I don't know…" Mark looked hesitant. "What's Scarf Boy's power?"

"He can lasso things with his mighty scarf, duh!" I told him. The boy's so naive sometimes.

"Oh." He paused. "Alright. Well, what do we do first?"

I decided to start it off, leaping onto the metal table, looking very super if I do say so myself. "FEAR NOT, MEMBERS OF THE ALPHABET CITY AVANT GARDE, IT IS I, THE ENARMINATOR!"

"And Scarf Boy!" Mark added quietly.

"You there!" I pointed accusingly at Niccolo; who is if you remember our Italian hot plate. "You're looking a little suspicious! Don't try any slick moves, wiseguy, I'm onto you!"

And I landed beside Niccolo with a graceful jump.

Scarf Boy followed me submissively.

"We have reason to believe that you are involved in the Italian Hot Plate Mafia… what do you have to say about this, Niccolo?" I demanded.

"Um… Roger?"

"Who is this Roger you speak of? I'm the EnArminator, Scarf Boy."

"_Fiiiine. _EnArminator, that's a hot plate, it can't talk."

"You still have much to learn my young Padawan." I told him chastisingly. "There are WAYS of making him talk."

Scarf Boy looked doubtful.

I went over to the freezer, looking all the more brave and valiant as I withdrew a single ice cube and stuck it upon Niccolo with a grin.

"How do you like that, hot plate?" I asked. "Stings, doesn't it?"

Niccolo didn't have time to answer, for just then, the door rolled open and there stood Collins.

He looked at us for a minute, Mark startled by his appearance and in full lizard-mode (I should have dubbed him Lizard Boy), and me standing over the hot plate, looking determined with an ice cube.

"Mark, what is Roger doing? I told you to keep an eye on him!" Collins looked a little worried.

I don't understand why. "We're interrogating Niccolo!" I answered for Mark.

"Why?"

"We think he's part of the Italian Hot Plate Mafia." I whispered. "Right, Scarf Boy?"

"Why is he calling you Scarf Boy, Mark?" Collins interjected. "Has our little Roger finally gone off his rocker?"

"We're playing superheroes!" I exclaimed.

"Is this true, Mark?" Collins asked, eyes wide.

"Um… yeah." Mark answered.

"I don't believe it." Collins said, looking angry. "You two should be ashamed!"

Mark hung his head low.

"How DARE you start a game of superheroes without me?" Collins asked, sounding hurt.

"Aw, you can play!" Mark said quickly, relieved.

"Uh, uh, uh!" I told him. "I make the decisions around here, Scarf Boy, I'm the EnArminator, not you."

"Come on, let me play!" Collins insisted.

"You have to have a superhero name to play." I told him seriously. "And a power."

"I'm Stoli-Man!" Collins shouted. "DUH! My breath smells like beer!"

"Welcome to the group, Stoli-Man." I told him genuinely.

He smiled. "Stoli-Man, Stoli-Man, does whatever a Stoli-Man can…." He sang.

"What's your power?" Mark asked.

"I burp beer clouds!" Collins said, as if it were very impressive. "What do _you_ do, Scarf Boy?"

"I rope people with my scarf. And the EnArminator hugs people." Scarf Boy responded.

"To death?"

"No!" I cut in. "I just HUG them!"

"Ok…" Collins said, "Sounds fun." And with that said, Collins marched over to Niccolo and burped loudly at him. "Take that, suckah."

Scarf Boy laughed uproariously as the door slid open and Mimi and Angel bounced in, looking perky as usual.

They stopped several steps into the room.

Angel stared at Collins. "Honey, why did you just burp at their hot plate?"

"I'm Stoli-Man." Collins told her. "I burp clouds of beer."

"Sorry I asked." Angel replied. "What are you all doing?"

"Yeah, really." Mimi looked WAAAY confused.

"Interrogating Niccolo, what does it look like?" I asked.

"Um…. actually it kind of looks fun." Angel replied. "Can I play?"

"Sure! I'm the EnArminator, and I hug people! And this here's Scarf Boy, my loyal sidekick, who ropes people with his scarf. And over there is Stoli-Man, who you already met."

"YAY!" Angel cheered. "Well…wait, who am I?"

Mimi stood there, bewildered.

"WAIT I GOT IT!" Angel screamed, "I'm PICKLE WOMAN!"

"Sounds hot," Collins put in.

"Yes, I put the pickle tub on the villain's head and bang on it." Angel said. "That's my power!"

"Oohhh… hey! Try that on Niccolo!" Scarf Boy suggested.

And Pickle Woman skipped over with the pickle tub. "Now, I'm sorry, this is going to hurt you sweetheart, but maybe you should give us the info we need, please?" And she started hitting the tub with her sticks where it now rested atop Niccolo.

Meanwhile, I asked Mimi, "Don't you want to play?"

"Um… well, who would I be?" She asked, looking more than a little lost.

"Uh…." I put my thinking cap on, looking her over with my keen eye. My eyes roved over her sparkly outfit, and it hit me. "You could be… Glitter Girl!"

"OOOH!" She liked it, I could tell. "I have some body glitter!" And she pulled out a little baggie of it, looking excited.

She joined Angel in front of Niccolo and proceeded to sprinkle a bit of the glitter onto him, saying, "Meow-HA!"

And so, our group had grown.

We continued to try and force Niccolo to talk (he's a tricky one, didn't say a word, uttered not one syllable) until…

Maureen and Joanne came in, both eyeing the spectacle.

"Hey, guys! What's new?" Maureen greeted, as if it were nothing.

"What the…?" Joanne said quietly.

"We're playing superheroes and we're interrogating the hot plate!" Mimi exclaimed.

Maureen jumped up. "OHMIGOD! I WANT TO PLAY!"

Of course we were willing to induct her into the group. Under two conditions.

"You need a superhero name and power!" Angel told her.

"Yeah, like I'm Stoli-Man, Roger's the EnArminator, Mark's Scarf Boy, Angel's Pickle Woman, and Mimi's Glitter Girl!" Collins introduced.

"Cool names!" Maureen shot back. "Um… I can be Sexy Karate Cat Lady!" And she demonstrated her power. "I KICK AIR!" She shouted, and did just that. "HI-YAH!"

Joanne gave her a blank stare. "Um…."

"Jo, you can play too!" Maureen told her. "You can be the Amazing Pookie."

"What would my power be?" Joanne asked, dubious.

"Um… you pookie-fy people."

"How exactly does one 'pookie-fy' someone?" Joanne looked confused.

"You go 'Pookie-fy!'" Maureen suggested, and waved an arm through the air dramatically.

"That sounds like a Harry Potter spell." I pointed out.

What? I read sometimes.

"Okkk." Joanne agreed, and joined us at the hot plate. Maureen kicked all the air around Niccolo, but it did nothing to faze his strong exterior. Then Joanne pookie-fied it and that also failed.

"Maybe we were wrong about Niccolo being in the Italian Hot Plate Mafia?" Scarf Boy asked.

"No, I have a very reliable source." I insisted.

"Who's your source, EnArminator?" Glitter Girl asked me.

"He wishes to remains anonymous." I informed her. _Mister McFumms never lies._

"Whatever." Sexy Karate Cat Lady intoned, "I will make Niccolo talk, I swear!"

But then, we were faced with a situation most dour as a more pressing matter entered the loft.

Scarf Boy leapt in fright, "HOLY GUACAMOLE, ENARMINATOR! IT'S THE YUPPIE SCUM!"

"Aw no! Not the Yuppie Scum! Anything but that!" Stoli-Man shrieked.

"FEAR NOT, MEMBERS OF THE ALPHABET CITY AVANT GARDE, IT IS I, THE ENARMINATOR!" I screamed, voice booming.

Benny looked perturbed.

"And I, Stoli-Man!"

"And I, Glitter Girl!"

"And I, Sexy Karate Cat Lady!"

"And I, Pickle Woman!"

"And I, the Amazing Pookie!"

"And I, the loyal sidekick, Scarf Boy." Scarf Boy added quietly, raising a hand. "Woo." He cheered half-heartedly.

"What the hell?" Benny asked.

"Speak not, Yuppie Scum, or you shall be smited." I said seriously.

"Look, I just need the rent." Benny said simply.

Scarf Boy gasped. "EnArminator! He wants our loot!"

"He'll never get it!" The Amazing Pookie put in.

"….what?" The Yuppie Scum was dazed and confused.

Stoli-Man wasted no time. "Oi! Yuppie Scum!" And he stood before him, unleashing the most horrible burp ever emitted from a human soul.

The Yuppie Scum grimaced, waving a hand in front of his face. "Ew… that's disgusting! Your breath smells awful! Why would you do that?"

Collins ignored him.

Then, Glitter Girl flounced over and threw a pinch of glitter all over the Yuppie Scum's shiny bald scalp.

"Um… wow. What is going on here?" He asked.

Angel, Pickle Woman, placed the tub over his head and explained sweetly. "These are our superhero attacks, honey! TAKE THIS!" And she hit the pickle tub hard several time with her drumsticks. "Sorry."

She removed the bucket and the Yuppie Scum was rubbing his ears.

The Amazing Pookie leap forward, yelling, "POOKIE-FY!"

"Huh?"

Sexy Karate Cat Lady did a couple kung-fu air moves, much to the Yuppie Scum's bewilderment.

"Alright, I'll just come back when you all are sane." And the Yuppie Scum turned to leave.

"NO!" And Scarf Boy snagged him on his scarf like a lasso. "The EnArminator hasn't unleashed his power yet!"

And I took this as my cue. I bounded toward Benny, smiling wide.

"What….?"

And I hugged him. A GREAT. BIG. BEAR. HUG.

"Why are you hugging me?"

"That's my superpower!" I told him as I squeezed him.

"GET OFF ME!" The Yuppie Scum looked half-angry, half-amused.

And with that, he left.

"UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN!" I yelled after him.

Sexy Karate Cat Lady let out a whoop-whoop. "THE YUPPIE SCUM HAS BEEN STOMPED!"

So, in short, that was probably one of the best days of my life.

EnArminations to You,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

-------

**Note: **The name "The EnArminator" was inspired by Rajah's Spanish teacher, Senor Rhoades, for he was teaching how to say "to give hugs" in Spanish. The word is "dar abrazos" and it literally translates as "to give arms around". He described it as, "to en-arminate" someone. And that's where the EnArminator began…


	9. Ivy League Colleges Are Not Furry

Sarah: AAAHHHH MY BRAIN ACHES!!!!!!

Rajah: Yeah, these people… the things we do for them. Do you guys know how long this took? FOREVS, GUYS, FOREVS.

Sarah: It's not even our best work.

Rajah: They can deal with it. They'd better give us some freaking reviews for this, Sarah. That's all I can say.

Sarah: I'll take a beating to them if they don't… with a frying pan!

------

Darling Diary,

So today, I saw an Air O' Plane. I believe that the root of Air O' Plane is Irish. Damn, I'm smart...wooohoooo. Um, anyway, the Air O'Plane reminded me of high school. I'm writing from Scarsdale, which coincidentally reminds me of Scarsdale Alternative High School, aka SAHS. Dude, we were like, pinnacle of Scarsdale Public Schools. We liked to call ourselves the SAHSmic Scholars. Not to be confused with the Seismic Scholars, who were something else entirely: those guys were earth-shattering!

Well, you may be wondering why I'm in Scarsdale right now. Well, see, for my birthday, my Mommy sent me some Rock'em Sock'em Robots in this package in the mail. I called her and said, "Double yoo tee eff, Mommmmmyyy? Why did you send me these silly toys, I'm not ten anymore, alright? Gosh."

"Well, I haven't seen you in forevs, baby. So I wouldn't know, now would I?"

Yeah, truth was, I hadn't seen my mom in person in... hm... twelve years? 'Cause, yeah... I was eighteen when I left... mhm, and I'm twenty-four now, so yes! Twelve years, that's about right.

"Mommy... don't make me sound like the bad guy. I mean, I could come and visit you. And you could make me some cherry pie."

And so, here I am in Scarsdale, writing in you, with my belly all full of yummilicious cherry pie. Mmmmm.

So yeah, I think I'll tell you about my high school days, since there's been so many signs in my life to report it to you. Wait... that didn't make sense, did it? Oh well, I don't need to explain myself, this is ART, goddammit! Art can only be interpreted by individuals as they please. So interpret it how you like, see if I care! Interpret it as the life story of a flippin' ring-tailed flying lemur, if you want. Kaythanksbye.

WAIT! NOT BYE! JUST KAYTHANKS! I haven't written my entry yet! Don't you dare leave me.

I'm going to get back on topic now: the Air O' Plane. Air O' Planes remind me of my high school days because SAHS was right next to an Air O' Port. Not a big ol' International Air O' Port, mind you. A little one. But it was still ANNOYING.

I mean, you're sitting in class... trying to get an edumackation and learn and stuff... and then, what's happening? VRRRRRRRRRSHHSHHIIIIITVAWGAARRRTHHHHSHCOOOOLICAMELSODASTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...TT...T...T... T BANGS!

Yes, that's the noise an O' Plane taking off makes. I would know. Don't question my wisdom.

I mean, that happened like, EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN DAY OF MY HIGH SCHOOL LIFE. And then, my Spanish teacher, Senora Titicaca, would be cussing in Spanish at the Air O' Planes and their flight attendants...erm... _azafatas. _

Then Mark, nerd that he was... uh, is... would yell over the noise, "SENORA TITICACA! TEACH US SPANISH, I WANNA LEARN! QUIT YELLING AT THE AIR O'PLANES!"

"No hables ingles en mi clase, Senor Cohen!!" She'd scream back.

"How can I possibly SPEAK SPANISH WHEN YOU NEVER TEACH US, AND JUST YELL AT THE CEILING FOR THE WHOLE CLASS PERIOD?!!"

She would then shrug and shout in perfect English. "WELL, TELL ME THIS, HOW CAN I TEACH YOU WHEN YOU CAN EVEN HEAR ME?"

"BUT I CAN HEAR YOU JUST FINE, SENORA TITICACA! I CAN HEAR YOU CUSSING OUT THE AIR 'O PLANES!"

"CAYATE, SENOR COHEN!" Senora Titicaca would scream back

Maybe that's why I never learned Spanish very well. It's a shame, I mean, I might've been able to understand Mimi a little better when she gets talking really fast with Angel... sometimes I think they're talking about me, and I get a little self-conscious, but oh well. That's the way the cookie crumbles or should I say _Asi es la vida?_

Back to being a SAHSmic Scholar.

Despite the fact that our school was known for academic excellence, I truly don't remember much of my academic career. I remember sitting in class writing songs instead of taking notes, and doodling little pictures of the teacher... this one time, I drew a picture of my English teacher, Mr. Jonesicola, who was male, with a huge pregnant belly. I got this idea because my history teacher, Mrs. Foblentz was actually was a pregnant female, was standing right beside him... I sort of mushed the two together in my mind. That was funny... until a kid grabbed it from me and gave it to the principal later that day.

Principal What's-His-Face (I never learned his name, actually... I just called him 'Sir' to his face) asked me if I thought the note on the back was funny. It was a conversation between me and Mark about how our history teacher's baby was going to pop out as a Martian kangaroo.

So... I decided to be honest. "Yes, Sir... I do think that's funny."

I couldn't lie, really... even if my answer sounded cocky.

Principal What's-His-Face looked very angry. "So... if I called Mrs. Foblentz down to the office right now, would you tell that to her face, Davis?"

I swear, he thought Davis was my first name. Then came the honesty again. "Um... yes, Sir, I think I would."

"Really?" He eyed me coldly.

"Yeah." I said simply.

"Well... we can't, because she's in class right now."

So basically, I got out of class to go to the office for no reason, not that I'm really complaining. Even though I did go back to math class, and I was really confused because I missed learning about Pascal's Triangle... I had no clue what everyone was talking about, with the patterns of triangles within triangles. That was wack, man.

I had good grades, even though I didn't do homework much. I was so great at tests, that it helped my grade point average. Anyway, not doing homework was so common for me, that I came up with the greatest excuses for showing up without it.

I mean, "My dog ate it"... that's lame, who's going to believe that?

For example, in Spanish class one time, Senora Titicaca came over to my desk and asked me, "Roger, why didn't you do your homework?"

"I didn't know there was any." I replied flatly. "You didn't tell us."

Normally she forgot to anyway. Too busy yelling at the Air O'Planes.

"Yes, I did, Roger... I showed you exactly what you were supposed to have to turn in today."

"Oh... well..." I thought fast, "My grandma told me not to look at people."

And this one time, in Science, Mr. Kaufston, asked me the same thing.

"Well, you see... I was walking to the bus stop, and this random old Indian lady comes out of her house wearing only a robe and she took my toast I had been eating and gasped. 'YOU EAT TOAST!!!! I like toast, don't you? I prefer it made from bread, how about you, young man?' So then I said, 'Um...yeah, I like toast made from bread too...' And then she started talking to me about how she hated English muffins, and how she liked to eat her toast with peanut butter, and sometimes sardines. Then she randomly yelled, 'YOU HAVE TO PROTECT YOUR SWEATER!!! ALWAYS PROTECT YOUR SWEATER!!!' She took me by my shoulders and added, "PEOPLE WILL WANT TO UNRAVEL IT!!' I wasn't even wearing a sweater, but before I could say anything, she took a bite of my toast and then this little Asian guy came out of the house and asked, 'Hey, honey... why don't you come back to bed?' Then she told me to sit tight and that she had to give me something. She left and then came back with my toast in a little plastic baggie with a note on it. The note said, 'PROTECT YOUR SWEATER'. And she gave that to me, toast with a bite out of it and all. I didn't eat that toast though... I still have it, want to see it?"

He didn't want to see it for some reason. "Roger, what does all of this have to do with your homework?"

"Oh, my homework? You were asking about my homework?!!" I told him, "Well, my little sister Riley took it and cooked a burrito on it in the microwave."

Hey, man... that burrito thing ACTUALLY happened, and my parents did nothing about it. It was so tragic, because she was 11 at the time, obviously old enough to know not to use my homework as a burrito cover!

Anyway back to Science class.

I had to do a Science Fair Project once, and it was about butterflies. I didn't have anything to feed my butterflies with, and they need some sort of special plant. So I was hunting around, but then I found out that the certain plant I needed grew by the train tracks. So I drove my car over there and walked up to the train tracks to find it. And when I came back, there was buttload of cops surrounding my car. Apparently the dry cleaners across the street saw me go up there and called the police, thinking I was either going to attempt suicide or deal drugs.

So I found myself trying to explain to cops that I wasn't suicidal and that the plant in the baggie wasn't drugs, but it was food for my butterflies.

This is a very odd thing to have to explain to a bunch of cops.

Oh yeah, I met Maureen in science class! It was really weird... apparently she had joined the class a few days after it officially started, so they put her in the back of the room in a little chair away from the rest of the desks.

So she sneezed and it made me jump. I turned around and exclaimed, "WHOA! THERE'S A PERSON BACK THERE! HELLO, PERSON!"

Maureen was actually a quiet child. Very shy.

She nodded a little, head down. I think she was scared of me.

So that day, when we did a lab experiment, I made sure that I would be her partner. Mark ended up joining our group later because you know, Mark follows me...

Anyway, Maureen started to open up a bit when we started building a pig out of potatoes. I don't even remember why we did that... or where we got the potatoes for that matter,: that lab was supposed to be about measuring something in kilopascals!

Haha, Killer Pascals.

That reminds of killer whales... which reminds me of walrusi. You know the plural form of walrus? And now, I'm going to go off on a tangent. (A.N.:The word tangent reminds Sarah of tangerines and Rajah of... jurisdiction.) OH MY GOSH, our school mascot was a walrus!

I would know... that's another story entirely. You know what? I think I'll tell it.

Well, so freshman year, I decided to join the cheerleading squad... I've always wanted to be a cheerleader... it had been one of my dreams. I always loved all that jumping around and cheering... what fun! And I was a pretty sweet cheerleader, even though some dumb people always called me a faggot. I always had a girlfriend, which made it quite obvious that I wasn't gay, however. Some people are stupid.

I had a lot of girlfriends... some were weird... I don't know why I dated them.

One of them was like, obsessed with me. At first I was flattered by her admiring me. Then it started to get strange... I found out she dug through the trash to get a piece of my used gum.

So I dumped her, of course. And she wasn't worried. She said, "Well, that's ok... because I plucked out one of your hairs and I'll just clone you someday. Then you'll be MINE, MINE, MIIIIIIIIIIIIINEEEEE!"

Don't fret, she got hit by a bus a few days later.

It's tragic, but I mean, at least we don't have to be afraid that some random clone of me while pop up and fight me for the title of True Roger Davis.

I mean, I could kick the crap out of any gorgeous-ass clone of mine, but I really don't feel like it. It would be a little odd to look at my own butt.

Although I'm quite sure it's awe-inspiring.

That's a story for another time, my friend.

Back to the cheerleading.

I got kicked off the squad. I know, it's sad. All the stupid girls decided to all start bitching at me, I think... they were ALL PMSing at the same time.

It was terrifying.

But, I decided I had to get back at them.

So, I became the school mascot... Chester the Walrus.

They really didn't like it when I ran across the football field in my walrus suit singing, "KOO KOO KA CHOO! I AM THE WALRUS!". I kind of ruined their homecoming routine.

So of course they never let me back in.

And I got suspended for a few days by Principal What's-His-Face.

Whatever, I didn't care. It was funny... although no one in the crowd really thought so. They took football WAY too seriously. And for some reason, Scarsdale has a serious problem with the Beatles.

Maybe THAT'S why I left.

Ok, so... high school was fun. But when it was all over, the joke was off (for the most part) and it was time to apply for college.

Which was also weird... because turns out, I'm some sort of genius child and got REALLY high test scores, and so I got in to a bunch of Ivy League schools.

I didn't really want my friends to know that I was secretly a genius; that really ruins my image! And my skin, did you know that stress causes acne? That is why I tend to avoid those sorts of things, to keep my face clear. I don't have enough money for that "ProActiv" stuff!

So I got to the point where I had turned down every college except Harvard.

I called them from a pay phone, Maureen happened to be waiting for me outside. She had to call her dying grandmother.

"Hello, Harvard Office of Financial Aid and Admissions, this is Jenny speaking, how may I help you?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT, MISS IVY LEAGUE!???" I screamed at maximum volume, "I'VE HAD IT WITH THIS OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE CONTROL FREAK PARANOIA!"

"Um... can I help you, Sir?"

"No, you can't help me, Jenny. I DON'T WANT YOUR EDUMACKATION!"

"Who is this?"

"I AM ROGER MOFUCKING DAVIS, BITCH! CROSS ME OFF YOUR MAILING LIST!"

"Have you been accepted into the school, Mr. Roger MoFucking Davis?"

"YES! But the middle name is actually..." I whispered, "Elizabeth. ANYWAY! DOESN'T IT SOUND LIKE I WAS ACCEPTED, LADY? I MEAN GOSH!"

"Well... this isn't the normal reaction we get..."

"You know what, Jenny? JUST SUCK IT!" And I hung up and stormed out of the payphone area.

Maureen took my place and dialed her grandmother's number.

I decided to be polite and wait for her.

While I was waiting, I spotted a heads-up fortune cookie on the ground... oooh, it was my LUCKY day!!!

I snatched it up and cracked it open... throwing the remains of the cookie on the ground, no one likes those fucking things anyway.

The little paper fortune read: "May you be as happy as you are furry."

I stood there for a minute, pondering the meaning of this. Did it mean that in order to be happy, I had to grow a beard?

I stroked my clean-shaven face, not liking that idea. Everyone knows that ladies don't usually like to kiss scrubby, scratchy, hairy faces. And I'm a ladies' man! Oooh, Yeah.

So I got to thinking... who do I know that is furry?

Then it struck me: COLLINS! Collins is furry!

Was this fortune trying to tell me that I needed to go to Collins to be happy? Well, one thing is for sure, Ivy League Colleges are not furry!

So as I was thinking, Maureen came out of the phone booth, sobbing.

"My grandmother just died..." She said through her tears.

"Wait..." I asked, confused. "While you were talking to her, like she said, 'Hiiiiii, Maureen,' in her little old lady's voice and then went 'BRACHC CHCHAAA AAA SHOWERCURTAINSPHHHHH TTTTTT...TT...TTTT...TTTTT..TTT...T... T BANGS!'?"

I tend to be a little insensitive sometimes, but I don't mean to be.

But Maureen just nodded solemnly, "Yeah... just like that."

And I'm thinking, "Whoa, with the shower curtain thing, even? Why would THOSE be her dying words?"

Nevertheless, I let Maureen cry on my shoulder for a little while, and after I found a lollipop wrapper for her to blow her nose on, I realized I still had the fortune in my hand.

"Hey, Maureen? You want to go to New York City with me to visit Collins?"

I had to cheer her up somehow.

She looked up and replied, "I've always wanted to be an actress, let's go!"

And that's how I ended up in New York City. Center of the universe.

We ended up living with Collins, actually, instead of just visiting.

Later, when Mark gave up college at NYU and came to live with us, instead of a girlfriend... he brought home... BENNY.

Oh joy of joys!

That bald-headed fat-ass. DAMN HIM. DAMN HIM GOOD.

Anyways, my Mommy just called and said it was time for din-dins. (A.N. We think this means dinner.)

SO GOODBYE, FAREWELL, wait... how does that song go? Oh yeah, GOODBYE, FAREWELL, HASTA LA VISTAAAAAA, TO YOU AND YOU AND YOOOUUU! GOODNIGHTTTTT! GOOODDNIIIGGGHHHT!

Even though I'm not going to bed. I'm just eating some food.

It's lasagna. That's pronounced like "la" as in "love", "sag" as in "saggy" and "na" as in "banana".

Only I don't love saggy bananas.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Love,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

----------

Note: Many of the stories in this entry were true, inspired by our dear friend Arianna and other people. The things that seem the most fake are probably actually the true ones. 


	10. Pomosh! Pomosh! Povikayte lekar!

Sarah: Happy Birthday, Rajah!!

Rajah: (in birthday-like glee) Yeah, folks, April Fool's Day is my birthday. You'd better believe it, 'cause it's TRUE.

Sarah: Damn straight.

Rajah: And a happy birthday also to Stephanie Pascal and anyone else whose birthday happens to be today as well. April Fool's Day is CLEARLY the best birthday EVER.

Sarah: No. Nuh-uh, Rajah! May 7th is superior because its when Hitler (supposedly) killed himself.

Rajah: (funny look) Whatever. On with the chapter!

* * *

Salutations Diary,

OUCH! What the hell was that for! I just open you up and you bite me. I've got a fucking paper cut now. YOU'RE A HORRIBLE PERSON. It's gushing blood... ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. I need a Band-aid. MRAAAAAAHHH. Be Right Back.

Ok the Rogermeisters back now from... Rogernation. I hope I didn't scare you but maybe you should consider that before you bite me next time. OMG, my Band-aid has a Jesus on it. Where in the hell, or uh, heaven did we get these things? I'm wigging out, because I don't know if they're a joke or if someone picked them up without noticing they had Jesus on them. I don't know how they couldn't notice, this is CLEARLY white Jesus. 'Cause no one is really religious in our knitted family. OH well I don't know maybe this thing is like, holy helps it heal faster.

WHOA, the Band-Aids came with a Jesus pen topper! AHH THIS IS COOL! Jesus is riding on top of my pen... like a camel. HE WILL BLESS YOU, DIARY! YOU AND ALL MY WORDS!

Well, I forgive you, Diary. I mean, it's only a paper cut, I've had WORSE, much WORSE. Besides, I'm a Christian today... I hear they are forgiving.

ANYWAY. Back on topic: You are forgiven, all is well. I'm not seriously injured. But I have been in the past. Haha, I mean SERIOUSLY, I have had some fucked up dinosaurs... I mean injuries! Fucked up injuries.

One time, I got STABBED to death.

But... that was in a dream, so that doesn't count. I had you all freaked out for a second there, didn't I? With my drama? Well, there will be NO MORE DRAMA... no way. No no drama, no no no no drama!

And NO, I am not singing Fergie. That was uh... something of imagination, and uh... um... HEY LOOK, A BIRD!

Anywho, this one time, I walked into a bar.

It really hurt, and I got a concussion. Pretty bad.

But, there isn't really an interesting story behind all that, I mean, I just sort of... wasn't paying attention (imagine that!) and I walked into the bar.

The next thing that comes to mind is when I was eleven, right after I got my Hogwarts letter, my Mom started talking about getting me braces. Only they were like MUCHO EXPENSIVE GRANDE, and she complained about all the money that she would have to spend. So, wittle Woger decided to try and be helpful and make his very own homemade braces. Bad idea. Baaaaaaaaaad idea. Do you want to know what I did? I went to my Dad's office and I got out a handful of paper clips and rubber bands and proceeded to shove them into my mouth and chew on them, thinking they would mold to my teeth. I probably should have stopped when I tasted a bunch of blood in my mouth... but I didn't because I was a silly little child. At the end of it all, my Mom had to spend even more money, both to the dentist and to the psychiatrist that she sent me to... thinking it had been a suicide attempt. AT AGE ELEVEN!

When I was even younger, like... six or something. Maybe seven... or like 8. (A.N.: Damn, Roger was a dumb 8 year old.) I found some funny pills and decided to shove one up my nose and it started to hurt and I started cry and then it was burning and foaming. My mommy had to take me to the hospital and get it removed. That's when they started making child proof lids. I'm the cause of many things.

Later, in my junior year at SAHS, I got bored, so I punched my bedroom wall. It was STARING at me. Literally, like Collins had been at my house one time and used a Sharpie to draw some creepy face on my wall. It looked like a demented squirrel on crack. So I punched it. Really hard... I put a hole in the wall... and I kind of broke my wrist. That was... fun?

Then Mark came over and we went to movie, not knowing my wrist was actually broken. After the movie let out, my arm was huge and swollen... like a potato. That was when I said, "Mark? I think there is something wrong with my arm."

I had to have a cast for a really long time, and I couldn't drive my stick shift car, which royally sucked, because i had to ride the school bus, ick!

About a month later, I decided to bubble-wrap my arm and play some indoor soccer with my friends. So, I sort of then tripped over my own feet and I couldn't catch myself because of the wrist-deal, so I fell and there was this loud cracking noise. Turns out my leg broke.

So, the wrist and leg were on the same side of my body, and I couldn't use crutches. I was in a wheelchair for quite awhile. Showed up at the school dance in a wheelchair. My date felt awkward... and after the wheelchair, I got a walker, and everyone at school said I was like an old man. IT SUCKED EGGS.

But, let's go to more recent times, when I wasn't a kid.

This one time, I was just hanging around in the loft, exploring... you know, the usual. I was bored, crawling around, checking things out. So I crawled under the couch and what did I discover?

A BOWL OF MYSTERY!

It was like, pink... but at the same time it was also blue and brown and green and every color of the rainbow. And it was hard and fuzzy-looking. There was a spoon in it, so I deduced that it must have been food.

I was sniffing it when Joanne randomly walked in, looking for Maureen. I told her I didn't know where Maureen was. Then she asked what I was sniffing and why I was under the couch. I scooted out and stood up, showing her the Bowl of Mystery.

"EW!" She shrieked. "WHAT IS THAT??"

"I don't know, I think it's food of some kind." I sniffed it again.

"OH GOD, ROGER!" She screamed at me. "DON'T EAT THAT!"

"But I want to know what it is!" I whined. "Only one way to find out!"

"Whatever it WAS, it is now going to make you sick." She warned.

I probably should have listened, she did go to Harvard after all. Smart girl, that Joanne. But I was ACCEPTED into Harvard, what's the difference?

So I started guessing what it was as I took spoonful after spoonful into my mouth , all the while Joanne looking nervous.

"Hmm... it's... ice cream? NO. It's... spagetti. Nope, oatmeal. Wait, I think it's pickles! NO NO, turkey sandwich! Wait, maybe it's... ummmmm... pineapple? That's not right! GLUE! Well, no...no... it's not sticky enough. Ummmmm...hmmmm. Candy canes! No... that can't be it. Parcheesi?"

"That's not even a food." Joanne said seriously.

"YES IT IS!" I protested. "You put it on pasta!"

"You mean... parmesean cheese?" She asked.

"YEAH! THAT'S IT!" Then I thought some more. "But maybe that's not it either..."

Once all of the contents in the bowl were gone, I still hadn't figured out what it was. Then, I was struck by a sudden nauseated feeling, and Joanne backed up, saying, "OHHHHHH HOLY SHNIKEYS!"

"Maybe you're right, Joanne..." I said weakly. "That wasn't food." And I ran to the sink, as Joanne turned away, thoroughly grossed out.

The rest of that night was full of terrible food poisoning. But it wasn't food... so I guess it doesn't count as food poisoning. Anyway, that's the last time I'm eating something I find under the couch, unless it is CLEARLY labeled.

Like the other day I found a Hershey kiss under there... YUM!

While on the topic of food... it was Mimi's birthday. There was this BIG cake, and it looked delicious. Anyway, she wanted me to light her candles, I know, that IS how we met after all. But anyway, so I started to light the candles, and usually, I'm DAH BOSS at lighting candles. You know... light the match, light the candle, it's easy as taking candy from a baby! Though... I never understood why people say that, 'cause those brats like their candy, they aren't going to give it up easily. So, there I was, simply lighting her candles, when BAM! I'm on FIRE! Like, a whole sleeve-ful of fire... the shirt I was wearing must have been very flammable, because it took like a nanosecond for my whole arm to be on fire. But at least my babies, the plaid pants weren't in danger... they were at the dry cleaners. I mean, if anything happened to them, that would CLEARLY be a sign of the apocalypse. And it would be HORRIBLE if the apocalypse happened on Mimi's birthday... the poor girl. Anyhow, my sleeve was on fire... so naturally I was like, "BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACHAHAHACHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHHAHHASTSTTTTTTTTTTT T BANGS!" I was flailing my arms around and running in circles, panicking and I ran into a bookshelf.

What the fuck? Who do I know that READS? Oh yeah... COLLINS... GET YOUR FREAKING BOOKSHELF OUTTA THE WAY.

And then I fell into the cake. So I felt horrible, because I thought that I really pretty much destroyed Mimi's birthday party and ruined her special day. Just as I started to feel all guilty, she started clapping and cheering. She exclaimed, "THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!" And she came over and started licking all the cake off of me. I was like, "I should light myself on fire more often!"

Another story... let' s see. OH! It was New Year's Eve, and everyone was watching the ball drop, and... Collins suddenly screamed, "HEY, what the fuck?? WHERE'S THE CHAMPAGNE?? THE BALL IS ALREADY DROPPING AND WE DON'T HAVE CHAMPAGNEEEEE!!" I didn't want him to strain himself with worry, so I had to run all the way to the kitchen, find the bottle of champagne... and run back. So just as they all are cheering, "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" I come back in, trip over Niccolo (What the hell was he doing on the floor? That Niccolo, he must have been partying for the New Year) and so I fell and the bottle went flying and smashed on the floor. Trying to join in, I shouted, "HAPPY NEW-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" And so everyone was bawling with laughter after that.

It was kind of funny I guess... that I spent the first few seconds of the New Year falling on my ass. Only Roger Elizabeth Davis, Diary. Only me.

Anyway, this one other time, Collins was high (as always) and we were just chillin', you know, hanging out... and he stood up started waving her arms around freakishly and yelling, "I'M THE WIND MACHINEEEE!! YOU CANNOT PASS MEEEE!!" I didn't really understand the concept, so being bored like I was, I stood up and ran at full speed toward him, barreling into his flapping arms. His arm hit me really hard in the nose, and I got a nosebleed. Not funny, that really hurt.

I've noticed now that Collins is a very painful friend. He's to blame for a lot of my injuries... he's dangerous! Like another time, me and Collins were at the loft and Collins dared me to try to fit an entire grapefruit in my mouth. I'm a proud person... and I have this reputation for fitting a tennis ball in my mouth, my entire fist, and this one time I fit 48 grapes in there! So, I jumped at the chance to prove I could. Probably not a smart idea on my part.

So, I tried to do it quickly, you know, like ripping off a Band-Aid... (I'm mentioning Band-Aids a lot in here... well, dur, it's about injuries. Hahaha, smart me.) I shoved the whole thing in, and for a second , it seemed like it was going to work without a problem. But after one last shove... I heard a sort of pop... a cracking noise. Oh, the agonizing pain! I started wailing. (There's not much else you can do when you have a grapefruit stuck in your mouth...) And Collins got this confused look on his face. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong? Um... I'm in terrible pain... my jaw has snapped and this grapefruit is stuck in my mouth...

Only to him, it sounded like: GGGRAAAACHCHCHAAAAAACKCKCKCKTFR

ROODKKDKDDKKDKDDKKDDKKDKOSOSSONGODTIAMVCHGRIUHGVYJFKASKJFOVNRTUICACTUSIERUHVHOSIRVHUIJKROWLINGVMIHUTCUIYVNGHCVMISTERUYVCGFURYVBYZUIYNCTGVZAUYNCIAYCUIAY... T BANGS!

"You have a grapefruit in your mouth," was his response.

NO SHIT! I thought.

So anyways after I was able to communicate through primitive sign language that I had a grapefruit STUCK in my mouth (though that was very difficult because Collins knows real sign language and apparently the gesture I was making meant "to shit" so it sort of looked like I was trying to say I was constipated) he finally took me to the hospitial. There they were able to exract the grapefruit from my broken jaw and attached a metal thing that was difficult to talk through and eat stuff through to keep my jaw in place while it healed.

When that was attached I made it clear to Collins in writing that what hadd really happened was between only the TWO of us.

"Alright man I got your back," he said, "I'll cover youuuuuuuuuu! I already got a story concocted."

Then, when we got back to the loft, I fell alseep on the couch kind of loopy from all the pain medication I had. However Collins filled me in on the story that he had told Mimi when she just walked in and was I like, "What's all this scrap metal on Roger's mouth?"

Apparently then I exclaimed deliriously," No! Mimi, I wanna ride in the blue wagon!"

Then she was like all confused and was like," ... ... ... huh..??"

So this is what Collins told her (which is probably almost an exact quote because I know how Collins talks so just imagine me talking in a Collins voice):

Well so it started out as any ordinary day of Roger and I just chillin' would. Cool 'cause were a motley crew, ya' know. So I got this call from the libaray saying the graphic novel on Buddha that I had reserved was in and I wanted to pick it up. Only we didn't feel like riding the subway and we didn't have spare change for the bus. So I got the brilliant idea of riding bikes. Then, we realized... DAMN there's only one bike and I couldn't go alone because today is RogerCollins day and you know how he gets when someone blows him off on the days he has specifically planned to hang out with that specific person. (Collins just doen't understand the feeling of abandonment. If I sob a little when you blow me off you know how hard and deep it hurts me!) So then it hit me: I'll borrow Old Lady Hamburger's, (who lives down the lane), old lady scooter. So we were riding along just fine Roger on Mark's bike and I on Hambuger's scooter. Then I look back and Roger's not there. So turn around. I was worried that a Fed-X truck had hit the little guy. After going back three blocks (and that took awhile on the scooter) I found him lying on the ground next to Mark's bike with the string cheese he had brought along, because he hadn't eaten lunch and he wasn't hungry when we left, but he thought he might be later. So he decided to bring the bloody string cheese in case he wanted a snack.

So he's on the ground moaning and there's this Bulgarian guy yelling, "Pomosh! Pomosh! Povikayte lekar!"

So I pull out my handy dandy Bulgarian to English dictionary 'cause I'm a little rusty on my Bulgarian. After five minutes, I figure out he is calling out for an ambulance and then I asked, "Hables Ingles?"

I don't know why I spoke in Spanish to the Bulgarian dude but he understood saying," Yes, I speak perfect English."

"Then why were you talking in Bulgarian?"

"I do that when I get nervous," and then the dude starts sobbing on me. So Roger's on the ground, clearly in pain, a Bulgarian is sobbing on me, I'm like _what the fuck I don't have a phone to get an ambulance and why the hell is this guy sobbing on me and what the fuck am I supposed to do with him! _

So I threw the Bulgarian off me, by the way I found out his name was Vladimir (or Vladdy for short), and scooped up Roger in my arms. That boy doesn't weigh much and I'm a strong man. Vladdy took care of the bike and the scooter he accompanied me all the way to the hospitial to see if Roge Poge was alright. So apparently Roger had broken his jaw. Once they got that fixed, Roger was able to describe the incident, and he recounted the whole thing. He had been struck suddenly by a wave of hunger and he reached for the string cheese, but it got tangled in the wheel of the bike and he went flying. Then aprently Vladdy ran up to him and started screaming and 34 minutes later I arrived. And that's my story.

So then apparently Mimi was like, "WOW! OK that was WOW! Yeah I don't even know... WOW!"

I can't believe she actually believed him. I mean, either she's really gullible, or she thinks I'm incredibly stupid.

Making that story believable.

One time, I had fleas. Yes, we're on a new story now, and no, Collins isn't talking through the medium of me. He's not a ventriloquist, those things freak me out. And their little puppets too. Nasty, vile, creatures.

Anyway, before Evita the Akita, Benny had a cat. He's really a cat person. That serves him right, though... for deserting us. He even left the cat, it jumped off of the fire escape a few days later, and was never seen again. ANYWAY!

Another reason I despise Benny is because his cat had fleas and he either purposely forgot to tell me, or didn't know about it. Dumbass. Because of course, I got fleas from the kitty, Poo Diggs. Only not directly.

You see, I happened to notice once that Benny had a brush. A hairbrush. This of course made me crack up laughing because everyone knows Benny's a hairless freak of nature. And so I picked it up and started teasingly brushing my lovely locks that make girls swoon.

"Hahaha, Benny has a hairbrush! He sits and dreams of hair, sprouting from his head... with this unused brush!"

Benny stared at me, one eye twitching. "Uh... Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"That's Poo Diggs' brush."

I looked at the handle, which was adorned with pawprints.

STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!

So, the joke was on me, and it was Benny's turn to laugh. I secretly hoped he'd suddenly start choking on his spit while he laughed and then he'd die. That's the devil on my shoulder talking, though.

But after that incident, I started scratching my head maniac-edly.

And turns out, Poo Diggs and I both had to get flea collars. I didn't have that thing put on me willlingly, I mean, sure I knew it would help, but loss of dignity was a huge issue. Mark had to chase me around the loft with it screaming, "ROGER, GET YOUR FLEA-RIDDEN ASS BACK OVER HERE! WE CAN'T HAVE YOU SPREADING FLEAS ALL OVER THE PLACE!"

"Mark, clearly I'm not spraying fleas!" I screeched, still running, with him hot on my heels.

"I said 'SPREADING', you MORON!" He yelled back at me.

"OH! WELL, I'M NOT PUTTING THAT THING ON, IT'S DEGRADING! IT SMELLS BAD, AND IT MAKES THE FLEAS ALL... JUMPY!"

"Well... you should have thought about that before you brushed yourself with a cat brush."

It took Collins, Mark, Benny and Maureen to pin me down and put it on. And even after that, they had to duct tape over mitts around my hands to keep me from scratching or taking it off. I felt like an invalid, I couldn't play guitar, or doing anything really. I couldn't even pick up a fork, I just sort of smashed my face into my food to eat.

Which reminds me I don't like barstools. Damn them! They make you think they're a lot of fun. I mean like: weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! You can just like spin on them forever and its like all fun and games. But that's just what THEY WANT you to think. They're really filthy grotesque things that just want to murder you. I am almost certain they suck out the brains of infants and kick kittens and puppies. I use to believe their lies and I thought they were my friends.

I just was sitting there in one of them ya' know just spinning around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and then it bit me! Well not really bit but it busted my knee cap against the tabe! Some friend that is! I haven't trusted them since. I still don't sit on them. When I go to a bar now I just sit on the floor. I'm more comfortable there. The dumb bartender hardly ever notices me though that really sucks. I'm like " hey, yo! Yeah I'm sitting right here! Hello anyone there. Yeah down here. Yo you man I want an alcoholic beverage here. I'm talking to you yes. For the love of banana-flavored condoms, notice me!"

Oh! God dammit, Jesus! This dumb ass Jesus pen topper poked me in the eye. Ooooowwwwwwwwwwwww. It hurts sooooooo bad. Jesus is going in the trash. Dumb thing! Oh, oh, oh! GENIUS IDEA! I'm going to go shoot the Jesus pen topper off the roof on a firework. I wonder where Collins is... he'd enjoy this...

See ya later!

XOXOXOX,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

* * *

Rajah: Ok, you probably won't believe us when we tell you that most of those stories were true.

Sarah: Yes, many of them were committed by my dumb ass brother.

Rajah: He had a broken arm and leg like that.

Sarah: And the biking accident was the same except no Bulgarian guy and the cheese was shoestrings.

Rajah: ANYWAY, you all know the part where Roger is trying to explain to Collins that his jaw is broken?

Sarah: All that jibberish that ends in... T BANGS!?

Rajah: Well, there are hidden words in there.

Sarah: Yes, 10 of them. Words and abbrieviations. And no T BANGS is not a word that counts in the 10.

Rajah: So... digital cookies to those who dare to try and identify them.

Sarah: Whoever gets most will be recognized in the next chapter.

Rajah: Well, not the next. Because we've posted two today.

Sarah: YES! TWO LOVELY LONG CHAPTERS FOR YOU!

Both: (maniacal laughter)


	11. The Pasta Queen

Sarah: We wanted to wish you all a happy April Fool's day. :)

Rajah: (evil eyes) Even though I DON'T celebrate that particular holiday.

* * *

Dear Diary,

I hate the Pasta Queen.

Love,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

* * *

Rajah and Sarah: We think that the Pasta Queen is some sort of pasta maker. That what we get from the pictures Roger drew all over this particular entry. The sketches depict Roger strangling, beating, kicking, putting into microwaves, smashing, running over with a lawn mower, throwing off the Empire State building... you get it.

Rajah: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! You all thought this entry was going to be a long chapter!

Sarah: APRIL FOOL'S! WE GOT YOU! THIS IS THE SHORTEST THING WE'VE EVER WRITTEN! Does it even qualify as a chapter?

Rajah: Clearly the site says it does. So it does.

(Rajah and Sarah run off, proud of themselves, laughing at their joke.)


	12. My Butt Was Everywhere

Sarah: Ok so, we lost the list of words you all were supposed to find. Yeah, sorry about that… it was KELSEY'S FAULT!

Rajah: NUH-UH. Blame everything on me, as always. Sarah's mean.

Sarah: So I guess we should just mention everybody who tried.

Rajah: Ginger Glinda tried! WOOOOOOOOOO.

Sarah: My rabbit's middle name was Ginger… even though he was a boy. Long story. You know who else tried, Kelsey?

Rajah: OMG WHO?

Sarah: DramaQueenMaureen did.

Rajah: Well… Maureen certain is a drama queen. MY THEATER CLASS GROUP IS DOING RENT AND I'M MAUREEN HAHA! YAY!

Sarah: Ok…

Rajah: FriskyHam… FriskyHam tried too.

Sarah: I didn't know hams were frisky.

Rajah: Clearly they are. And Dreamer878 tried as well. That person is on my RENT FANSITE, like ZOMG.

Sarah: Mini-Chobi tried.

Rajah: What's a mini- chobobi?

Sarah: It sounds like a type of sushi. Oh well. ANYWAY. No one noticed JFK was in that gibberish mess. That's sad you all… he is an important figure in U.S. History.

Rajah: Speaking of frisky hams… the BAY OF PIGS!

Sarah: ……..?

Rajah: We need to shut up now. I'd still just like to point out that STEPHANIE didn't even TRY! : P

* * *

My Beloved Diary,

So, the weirdest thing happened tonight… SOMETHING ACTUALLY HAPPENED! I was just minding my own angsty business like I always do, you know… writing a song… this time it was about cotton candy.

I realized it was crap, so I tore it up and ate it. Unfortunately it did not taste like cotton candy. Somebody ought to invent cotton candy-flavored paper someday…

ANYWAY. But that's not what happened, I mean… it did happen but it's not the something I'm talking about that happened.

So as I was sitting there, I heard a KNOCK, a KNOCK, a KNOCK upon the door… I said, "KATRINA, KATRINA, OPEN UP THE DOOR!" I said, "KATRINA, KATRINA, OPEN UP THE DOOR!" So I opened up the door and I saw a fat man, a skinny man, a little teeny tiny man… and all they talked about was POLITICS and POLITICS AND… WHERE AM I??

Alright whoa. That was pretty crazy. Ok, that didn't happen at all. Except the knock. I didn't yell that thing about Katrina, nor was there a fat man, a skinny man, or a little teeny tiny man. Hurricanes cannot open doors… well, they probably can, like, blow them open, with their high winds… but they technically can't like, turn the knob and push slash pull the door open… so yeah.

What the fuck?

Back to my story. There was no men of various sizes, but there was a skinny hot Latina chick.

I had at first thought it might be Mark. That dumbass is always forgetting stuff… like his scarf. I do not want to be left alone with that FUCKING PYTHON. I might die.

So, about the girl. I said, "What'd you forget?" And I officially felt really dumb, because it was not Mark's ugly mug (seriously, no lighting yields pretty mug shots for Mark… he's too freaking pale. It always looks disgusting. Poor little was never photogenic.) I saw, but the face of a hot girl…

Fortunately, she kind of ignored that.

And I was like, thinking, _"Whoa, I don't even have to leave the house to find the babes… they come to me. They're attracted by my alluring scent."_

(AUTHORS NOTE: See Passage 11 of The Roger Theories…)

And she was like, "If you'll indulge me, Sir, what is that exotic aroma?"

Jaykay. JEYEFFKAY. J FUCKING K!

She didn't really say that. But you know she was thinking it.

She really asked, "Got a light?"

She wasn't holding a highlighter. It was a candle, dipshits. I know, you've probably tried lighting a highlighter too.

But you know, it's unhealthy. It produces toxic fumes. That's a bad habit. You should stop.

Then I thought, _"Whoa, hey… she looks familiar." _But only when smiled. She looked like my dead girlfriend… you guys may not know this, but April was a very smiley person. You would never guess it from her death, because the woman KILLED herself. GOD, I couldn't use that fucking bathroom for like, 3 months without seeing her dead body in the shower. It was like, "WHOA, SOMEONE DIED IN HERE!" Not like after Collins takes a dump and you think, "WHOA IT SMELLS LIKE SOMEONE DIED!" But like, "OMGGGGG… SOMEONE LITERALLY DIED IN HERE…" Waaaaah. But let's not go there. You don't need to know where I went to the bathroom those 3 months, and I'll be honest I didn't bathe for like 5 months after that.

But no this girl… she looked familiar.

Anyway, she looked really skinny and shivery. I pointed this out. She was like, "Yeah… that's okay. I haven't eaten much today."

I wanted to tell her how uncool that was because food is rather important to your diet.

But I let it be. LEEETT IT BEEEEE. Whisper words of wisdom… let it be.

Done. I'm done with that.

Would you light my candle? Basically that's what happened. She asked me to light her candle.

And she kept on blowing it out on purpose so she could stay with me longer. I appreciated the company and I mean, I know, I'm incredibly hot and sexy, but for real, I started running out of matches. I need those for my cigs.

And my highlighters!

Don't try that at home, Diary.

Then she comes back and I thought she had blown out her candle again… but like, it was totally because she lost her stash somewhere.

I was like, "GASP! YOU ARE TOO YOUNG FOR THAT, MISSY! IT IS PAST YOUR BEDTIME!"

She said was like, nineteen. So apparently that means she's grown up? Uh uh, girlfriend!

You are only an adult when you start taking responsibilities for all your dumbass actions.

I learned that the hard way. Oh cringe, I probably shouldn't talk about responsibility. It's not my friend.

So like, she gets down on the floor and purposely wags her ass in my face. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but seriously. She was clearly coming on to me.

And I was thinking, "Is this like a joke? She seriously wants this bod? Am I the best she can get?"

And she asked me if she had the best ass.

What do you say? What do you say to that?

Besides, I clearly have the best ass in the freaking world. It's like, THE ASS. Not even just below Fourteenth Street.

WAIT, I don't think I've told you this before! OMG.

So, Diary, I was a butt model.

Not kidding. Don't laugh at me. They featured my in magazines. Modeling pants. My butt was idolized.

I also modeled underwear packages. That was an interesting experience, I'll have you know.

Here's how it happened.

So, apparently the model for an important lower body modeling company… (no names) Anyway, the model didn't show up, and the agent was freaking out because his boss was throwing a fit. And he wanted coffee. So the guy runs wild onto the streets of New York in a panic.

I just happened to have just finished a gig with my band and I came out of CBGB's, with my guitar case (Lucinda's golden days…!), strutting my stuff.

And the guy runs into me, with this huge tray of hot coffee. Luckily the stuff didn't fall over me and burn me. So I'm like, "Holy Starbucks, let me help you with that." And I bend over to help pick up the coffee. He was like staring at my ass and "WHOA"ing at the top of his lungs.

How awkward can you get?

So I freaked out. "Uh… hi? Now that you're acting like a perv, I think I'll just leave…"

The guy FLIPS.

"NO!" He screams. "Please, no, you don't understand…."

"I understand perfectly well… you're clearly a creeper. My Mommy warned about you people!"

"No, that's not it! I'm an agent for a modeling company and my model didn't show up!"

"And…?"

"And YOU'RE PERFECT." He told me. "Your ass looks like it was carved by angels!"

"Um…"

"No, really!" He insisted. "Please model our pants and underwear."

"Okay, what the hell? Why not?" I replied, no longer wary.

The guy basically told me I was too sexy. Too sexy for Milan, New York, and Japan.

That's a very good thing.

My butt was soon everywhere. On billboards, magazine covers, on the sides of semi-trucks. There was this one billboard right outside the apartment at one point. And EVERY morning, I made a point to make note of it (aloud) to Mark and the crew.

"THAT'S MY ASS!"

"Congratulations." Mark would say drily.

He was only jealous, come on. Obviously.

Then my modeling career started to interfere with band practice. Not cool. Music is my first love… so I gave up my golden satin underwear for the guitar pick.

I don't regret the choice. It was fun while it lasted though…

So, you learned something new today.

By the way, that girl did eventually leave. I found out her name was Mimi. But she found her drugs… major turnoff.

Ew. Just ew.

Sorry, baby, but I refuse to get into that crap again. The Rog-Podge has officially and permanently given that up.

Along with his modeling career.

Yours 'til the toilet bowls,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

* * *

REVIEW, BETCHES! Or we'll slap a ho.


	13. Like the Energizer Bunny on Smack

Rajah: WTF WE HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG???!!

Sarah: We deserve to be slapped.

Rajah: Yes, this warrants major slappage.

Sarah: It's time for a slapdown.

Rajah: We hope you enjoy this chapter.

Sarah: (breathing strangely)

Rajah: Um... why are you breathing like that?

Sarah: (innocently) My knees are cold.

Rajah: Uh... ok.

------

DIARY!!!!,

Something happened again!!!! My life is so riveting! Things happen! THIS ISN'T NORMAL!!! I'm kind of freaked out, honestly. Maybe this is a sign that there really IS a higher power out there, and that higher power doesn't want me to be a hermit! Well, too fucking bad, Higher Power, because GUESS WHAT?!!! I didn't give in to your temptation, you bitch. I will be a hermit. I have a reputation to uphold.

Anyway, so you want me to tell you what happened? Okay, so yet again, it started out as a normal night of angstfests and brooding with my guitar… just like the last night. So Lucinda and I were having some good quality alone time together (which is always delightful), when that SOMETHING happened.

And that something came in my window.

And no, it wasn't the bathroom window, but thanks for asking. You're a real sweetheart, Diary. Always trying to fill in the ends of my thoughts.

Anyway, that something that came in my window. It was that Mimi girl again.

I was sitting there with Lucinda. She was looking so beautiful in the moonlight, which cast beautiful shadows over her strings and made me think poetic thoughts. I almost cried, people. She's that gorgeous.

But I was interrupted! Faintly, I could hear strange singing noises coming from outside! My first thought was, "OH MY GOD IT'S SANTAS ELVES HOLY CRAP THEY CAME FOR ME THEY KNOW I HAVEN'T BEEN SLEEPING AND I'VE BEEN REALLY GOOD ALL YEAR! I GOT OFF OF THE DRUGS FOR CORN'S SAKE!"

You know, I always thought those elves were creeper-like creatures. Watching children every second of every day, they must be little pervs! And you know Santa Claus? Bet that fat old man has a child porn business up there in Artica (you know, the land mass at the top of the world where the North Pole is?). You know, I hear it's LEGAL THERE! And he sells his shit to the Canadians and the Alaskans, I bet! DAMN YOU ALASKA! I hope you Alaskans never come to America, because I might have to punch your teeth in. Aw, no more mooseburgers for you.

But wait… my cousin is Canadian. The Canadians are welcome, I suppose. Just bring me some of that delicious maple syrup. Mmm, yeah, that's good stuff.

So, like, I guess this whole tangent of thought I went on when Mimi was singing and dancing made me smile a bit. And I realized she'd probably think it was HER that made me smile, which was not true… of course not. Like I said, temptation was defeated. TAKE THAT, HIGHER POWER!

So, I quickly composed myself and stared blankly at her as she swayed her hips and shook her chest around like she was on drugs. Oh wait… SHE IS! She got them out, but wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Hold on, she actually climbed on the table and slunk casually over to me and Lucinda, batting her eyelashes at me and she dove in for a kiss. Wait, that's the understatement of the century. She plunged in, like… a plumber… let's call him Joe! Like my mouth was a fucking toilet and she shoved her tongue in like it was the most urgent plumbing problem ever!

We won't go into what the most urgent plumbing problem is, even though I could clearly define it for you, speaking from pure human experience. Let's just say it was tremendously painful and ended with water all over the bathroom floor and me having to change my pants. Luckily, it wasn't the plaid ones. THANK GOD! Wait, no, don't thank that Higher Power. Grumble. Let's thank… LUCINDA!

Thank Lucinda. Or whoever invented plaid pants. Like… the Plaid Pants Guru.

So anyway. I was like, thinking, "Uh, uh, honey, that is not a toilet! Are you calling me a pottymouth?"

HAHAHAHAAH, that was a good one, huh, Diary? A downright knee-slapper.

So, in short, I got mad at her. She tried to plunge my mouth and busted into my crib getting between me and my guitar! What could be worse?

I mean, she was hot, but hello? She was also insane! Who did she think she was?

So she kept on trying to get me to take her out or something, and I wouldn't budge. Her next move was to start slinging random "Carpe Diem"-esque slogans at me in musical form. And all I could think about was high school and Youth to Youth. It was awful!

Which was so ironic. Since Youth to Youth is an organization against drugs and she had a freaking baggie full of them on her belt.

There's nothing wrong with "seizing the day". I'm all for it, as long as you seize said day and sit around and do hermit-like things. Like color eggs when it's not Easter! Or wait… what the hell do hermits do anyway?

I can tell what I do as a hermit:

One. Have tea parties.

Two. Read books off of Collins' bookshelves and become an expert at anything and everything.

Three. Angst. (Example, sit around and watch chick flicks and cry my eyes out. My favorite tearjerker is The Notebook.)

Four. Spend time with Lucinda. Arrange a romantic candlelit dinner. Remember to wink strangely and say, "You betcha!" … I mean… "Heeeeey baabbbby." In a very long deep voice that sounds sexy-like. Seriously, picture me doing that right now. Are you laughing or swooning?

Five. Angst. (Draw frowny faces in the dust on the windows.)

Six. Make fun of Mark, when he's around.

Seven. Make fun of Mark, when he's not around.

Eight. Angst. (If the world is so beautiful, why do roses have thorns?)

Nine. Collaborate with Mister McFumms and Lucinda in the investigation of Niccolo's underhanded activities possibly linked to the Italian Hot Plate Mafia. And William Ayers.

Ten. Eat food.

Eleven. Angst. (Write songs about the world ending, i.e. the polar ice caps melting and the polar bears without food or habitat, coming to warmer areas and eating humans. And the Alaskans coming too. With their polar beards. Oh, and they would eat humans too. I mean, duh, why do you think we keep them all the way up there in Russia? It's the only planet suitable for their habitation.)

Twelve. Feed the pigeons.

Thirteen. The occassional (monthly) bathing session, accompanied by clipping of toenails and removal of all toe jam and belly button lint. (I bet you're wondering : outtie or innie? Well, the answer is… innie.)

Fourteen. Angst. Play with fire.

Fifteen. Color things with charcoal. Mark gets angry when I touch any of his stuff now.

Sixteen. Knit Muslims. No explanation needed.

Um… maybe I should get back on topic. Right! The egg-coloring thing. I think Mark would try and get me psychiatric help if he found me coloring eggs. Even if it was Easter.

Even though he already does seek help for me.

He'd just seek more help.

Okay, anyway, back to Mimi. I got fed up with all that shit she was singing at me so I decided to force her to leave. Almost politely.

So I decided to do it the old-fashioned way – by chasing her out of the house. It took awhile… she's persistent, I'll give her that. I chased her down the steps like an attack dog with lipstick. Even when I'm in pitbull mode, I manage to stay trendy.

And then, even when I had kicked her out of the building, she continued to scream up at me in song form from the street. It was really annoying, so I went out on the balcony and screamed back.

But she kept on going. Like the Energizer Bunny on smack. Like, for real on smack.

Then my friends joined in!

What the hell? They rounded the corner and immediately took HER side! I mean, what the fuck? They didn't even know what the argument was about, and even if they had, HELLO? WHAT THE HELL KIND OF FRIENDS DO THAT?

… sigh.

And then, she gave up and I went inside and huddled in a corner with Lucinda.

And Mark came in and I threw a pot at him.

There was something crusty and rotten in that pot and it got in his hair. It looked like seaweed in his hair.

Then, of course I totally started laughing because I imagined Mark as a mermaid.

Good old Mark! He made me feel better, Diary. That must be what real friends do. So I forgave him, I guess.

Angst,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

------

Sarah: Um, unless you have been living under a rock, there is a really important election going on and we may have made some comments on it… what can we say? We dabble in the politics.

Rajah: We may have poked a little fun at a certain VP nominee… not to name any names.

Sarah: We kinda made fun of McCain and Palin…

Rajah: SHHHH! Sarah! We weren't supposed to name any names!

Sarah: Sorry… well to be fair, let's make fun of Obama real quick.

Rajah: With a parody of "In the Ayer" by Flo Rida and Will. I. Am.

Rajah and Sarah: (singing) HEY AMERICANS, YOU OBAMA FANS, ALWAYS YAMMERING ABOUT HIS AWESOME PLANS… Y'ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND… OBAMA PALLS AROUND WITH WILLIAM AYER-AY-AYERS, AYER-AY-AYERS!

Rajah: Um… that was a bit ridiculous. Wasn't that making fun of McCain more than Obama?

Sarah: SH!!! We didn't realize that, ok?

Rajah: Yeah…ok… REVIEW, PEOPLE!


	14. Irons, Colds, China and Pancakes, OH MY!

Rajah: Happy holidays, everyone!

Sarah: We originally started writing this in like, September. Haha, but we finished it as a late Christmas and early Happy New Year gift to you all.

Rajah: Hope you had a lovely Christmas, reviewers, readers, loyal followers, stalkers...

Sarah: Please don't stalk me. I'll take my potato gun to you.

Rajah: And I'll smack you with uh.... (looks around) this electric pencil sharpener from STAPLES! (brandishes it high)

* * *

Aloha Diary,

If you're wondering why I used a Chinese greeting, trust me, it pertains to what I have to say. For I had a traditional Chinese breakfast on the roof today: CREPES! And I made them myself. I'm a Culinary Queen! I mean King! KING! I made them for Mimi, why you ask?

Well I awoke at exactly 2:07 this morning and I felt like being romantic. But I didn't know what to do… so I went to my random chair on the roof to think and to ask my pigeons. So I cooed to them and they came. I decided to ask each one what I should do for Mimi today. You know, because of all their pigeon wisdom and all the hundreds of years they've lived. Remember 352 years and 22 minutes ago, dinosaurs roamed the earth. And because pigeons are related to dinosaurs, they've been around for a very long time. So, they're very wise and also very romantic.

So Andrew said, "Food."

And I said, "Well, that's a good idea, buddy. But let's expand on it."

Andrew said, "Food."

"Yes, I know! We're trying to add on to that, buddy!"

Andrew said, "Food."

"SHUT UP, ANDREW!" I yelled. And he pooped. "Go do that in the communal shithole, buddy!" Andrew's not the sharpest beak in the bunch… so I went to ask the others.

When I asked April, she started pecking my arm apart. So I told her she could spend the day at the park and cool off. She can be a bitch sometimes, but I should I remembered that she doesn't like Mimi.

Steve McQueen suggested a flight through the country, but that sounded expensive because neither Mimi nor I have wings.

Paul said, "Coooooo cooooo kacooooo cooooo kacooooo no cakooooo cooo cooo coooo kacoooo." I think Paul was a little sleepy because that didn't make ANY sense.

Riff suggested I take her to a dance. But I didn't know of any dances at that hour in the area, so I simply added "music" to the list that so far only consisted of "food."

Elphaba suggested taking her to a special place like the forest and sing to her. But forests are hard to come by in New York, so I decided to just keep it on the roof. Besides, the roof is a special place to ME.

Next I asked Kiki. And she said, "Pineapple."

I was like, "Whoa! That's a good one, pineapples are like the most romantic fruit ever! There's even a whole song about it." But we really couldn't just eat pineapples because that doesn't work.

Then I asked Dupree, but he didn't say anything. I said, "Get your fat ass out of here, Dupree! No one wants you around anyway!" But he just sat there. Stupid Dupree.

Leo Bloom is probably not the best bird to ask for romantic advice. He cooed, "You should get married before you do anything."

I mean, GEEZ, it's just a date! That bird is crazy, getting married before you get to know someone? Marrying before you date is what it leading this nation to be a nation of divorce. It will be the collapse of society as we know it. Just like the society of dinosaurs collapsed 352 years ago. Oh yeah and 22 minutes. I mean, we've gotta learn from history.

Roxie Hart has very odd ideas. Like, "Shoot her!"

I'm like, "Roxie, what kind of an idea is that? Shoot her? Okay, it would be really romantic to go wake Mimi up and shoot her in the face, then take her to a hospital. That would be SOOOO ROMANTIC!" Ugggh, stupid Roxie.

That's worse than what Leo suggested, like waking her up and saying "Let's get married." Either way, she'll think I'm insane, but with Roxie's idea she gets a bloody face.

Captain Jack Pigeon really isn't the most romantic pigeon either. He's too much of a free spirit, I think. So, he suggested rum. And I was like "NO." immediately because rum tastes like shit and it's sooo not classy to drink before 12.

So I thought I'd get chocolate milk and Sunny-D because those go best with pineapple.

Finally, I got to Christine. It was good she was last because it was the best of all the answers and she sang her answer in her gorgeous voice.

"Coooooooooocoooocooooooooooo… kacoooooooocoooooooooo coooooo PANCAKKKESSS…. Cooooooo….coooocoooocooooooo."

And it was so beautiful, I fainted.

And I must have hit my head pretty hard on the side of the roof because I had the weirdest dream. I awoke in a field of green beans and a little way of was a bridge crossing a stream of melted butter. The sky was made of mashed potato clouds. And there were three billy goats gruff beating up a troll beneath the bridge.

And I called out, "HEY!"

The goats jumped over from maybe like 23.42 yards away. They said in unison, "Doooon't threeaaten the goooaaatsss."

"Hey, I was just saying hello. You know, like a greeting?"

"Doooon't quuesssstioonn the goooaaats' wissdddooom."

"Oh, you guys are wise? Can you help me? What romantic thing should I do for Mimi this morning?"

"Dooonnn't asssskk the gooaaatss quessstttionnns that cannnottt be ansssweerrred."

"What? It's been answered before! I just want your opinion."

"Dooo noooot queesssttioonn the gooooaatts."

They started closing in on me. And I was like, "OH NO! They're going to beat me to a bloody pulp like they did the troll!"

Then I awoke with a start. And it was light outside, which ruined my plan for a romantic candlelit breakfast, but I decided to light candles anyway. I have like a million candles, man. Every birthday and every holiday people buy me new candles. And I don't know why, because I've never expressed any great fondness for them. But if you give me one, yeah, I'll burn it. I really like the warm vanilla scented ones. So I went to go find the newest warm vanilla candle in the loft. After finding it in the toaster, which is of course the last place I looked, I went to go get some pancake fixings.

Unfortunately, we did not have a waffle iron, so I could not make pancakes.

At first, I was devastated, and thought all my morning research was in vain. I was a loss for what to do, and I felt like I was stranded in an Artic desert with only penguins to keep me company as I slowly died of dehydration. But at least those penguins are soooo adorable!

Mark walked out of the bathroom. This would have been his daily 6:66 dispension of his bowels. The time is actually 7:06 but he had operation on his bowels when he was younger and ever since he has had to go at exactly that time, otherwise he shits in his pants. So I believe he can save the world… I mean, I believe the children are the future, I mean… I believe that doctors transplanted demon bowels into him and that's why Mark always has to go at 6:66 daily.

Anyway, Mark walked out of the porcelain sanctuary after relieving himself to find me shivering to death in Artica while caressing a penguin. Well, actually, it was the loft and I was caressing the blender.

"Mark…" I wrote (I'm trying to find alternatives to "said").

"Roger, should I be concerned or are you just being… Roger?" Mark asked.

"Mark, the penguins and the pancakes. They want food but Chirstine said and she said and I died and the goats were there and its cold cold cold cold cold greenbeans pineapples and pancakes were dancing blendersz mean irons irons IRONS and the waffles aren't flat but greenbeans no wait the fucking aoeitchmivhnchtirnvchmrieuahnmvocighiltivymco;eghmtioyniovmhiocteinvymoretyriocg,io oigsdnvymciog ryevci T-BANGs satan bowels crapping on the goats that cannot be questioned and the little mermaid said the turtles are dead plus China is beginning to dominate our foreign trade but the goatbeans will wear 20 button and a strap green dresses besides tuncmghtithiuvcmgoivymciohtinvhiohcmtioeyvhgncikmhioh T-BANGS," I panicked.

"Uh… Roger, I really didn't catch any of that except something about irons and colds, China, and pancakes."

Then, it struck me. We would have Chinese pancakes… otherwise known as… CREPES!

Because you don't need a waffle iron for those!

"Mark… you're a GENIUS! Where are the crepe fixings?"

"Uh… I don't know." Mark answered, flustered, "Where did you last put our crepe-making kit?"

"Oh, thank you, that's right… it's where it always is, in the umbrella drawer… right next to the umbrellas!"

"Wait, we actually have a crepe-making kit? And an umbrella drawer?"

Now I didn't know what HE was talking about.

So after I had made the crepes, prepared the pineapple and chocolate milk and Sunny-D, and put them on the roof on the random table that I had placed next to my random chair that I had put another random chair next to, along with a bunch of random candles, including the one I had found in the toaster, and then I set up a radio… all I needed was Mimi.

So I went down the fire escape to her loft.

A little while later, we were getting ready to dig in to our delicious feast of amazingness after I had led a flabbergasted but touched Mimi up to the roof.

Then, Mimi asked, "Roger, where's the jam?"

"Jam?" A bolt of worry shot through me. "What do you need jam for?"

"For the crepes, silly. You can't have crepes without jam."

"OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO RIGHT WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME I FORGOT TO BUY JAM WHEN I GOT THE SUNNY-D AND CHOCOLATE MILK AND PINEAPPLE! I'M THE WORS T BOYFRIEND EVER FOR MAKING YOU CREPES WITHOUT GETTING JAM OH MY GOD!"

"No, Roger… it's not like that. Settle down. This is really nice. It really is. Calm down, I have jam downstairs. It's fine. I'll go get it, I have to bring something to the relationship too, anyway. It's only fair since you did all this. Just breathe, I'll be right back." She got up.

She disappeared down to her loft and I waited, holding my breath.

When she reappeared, I gasped, face blue, relieved at the sight of the jam in her hand.

"Oh hot damn, this is my jam. It keeps me partying til the A.M. Y'all don't understand. Make me throw my hands in the AYER, AY-AYER, AYER, AY-AYER!" She sang happily as she hurried over.

And all was well in the land of Roger.

Yours til the waffle irons (because I don't have a waffle iron so I don't think that'll happen very soon),

Roger Elizabeth Davis

* * *

Rajah: Heyyyy. You know what would be freaking SWEET?

Saraha: Getting 100 reviews for this. That's what.

Rajah: What she said.

Sarah: We only need a few more.

Rajah: (wink wink nudge nudge)

Sarah: (hint hint hint)

Rajah: We promise to try real hard to update soon but (RENTHEAD GLOATING ALERT) we're seeing RENT for the third time in exactly two weeks when the tour kicks off and OMGGGGGGG ADAM AND ANTHONY WOOOOO. (RENTHEAD GLOATING OVER.)

Sarah: (scrubbing a grill as Rajah updates the story) HEY LOOK! (shows Rajah sponge that she wrote "RENT" on with dish soap)

Rajah: I'm so putting this in our author's note.

Sarah: (back to kitchen, scrubbing grill in sink) AAAAAH I GOT THE ROLLING PIN STUCK IN THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL!!!

Rajah: Faaaaiiil.

Sarah: :(

Rajah: :P

Sarah: X(

Rajah: This is going to be a long author's note.

Sarah: Maybe we should cut it down a bit. They don't read the long ones anyway.

Rajah: Sure they do.

Sarah: Whatever let's wrap it up. REVIEW THIS PLEASE AND THANK YOU.


	15. I Hate it When I Smell Like Feet

Sarah: HEEEEEEY!

Rajah: Guess what guys, we finally updated after a long period of non updating.

Sarah: And we saw the tour! And we were staying in the same hotel as the entire RENT CAST!

Rajah: We rode in an elevator with some of them, but we didn't really talk to them, just smiled at them. They were in private conversation.

Sarah: About how exhausted they were, AT THE FIRST TOUR STOP.

Rajah: Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Yo Sup Diary,

You know what, Diary? You're like my sensei. Or as Mimi would say, sensei-o. Was that an overgeneralization of the Spanish language? I apologize. As you might remember, my Spanish teacher, Senora Titicaca was lousy. I've told you before all she did was yell at Air O'Planes and at Mark. She also had a German accent, so any words I do know, I'm probably pronouncing with a German accent, which might also be why Mimi and Angel look at me like I've lost my bonkers.

But that's besides the point of this monumental essay of enormous scholarly proportions. So, I found these really awesome jeans. No, they are unfortunately NOT plaid, but they are form-fitting, awe-inspiring, envy-inducing, and best of all, they don't smell like feet! What, I HATE it when I smell like feet! They actually smell like muffins. Blueberry muffins.

Oh, well anyway, some people (cough COLLINS ahem cough), fail to focus on their grandness, but instead fixate on their sparkliness as a fault. Personally, I find their sparkles spiritually uplifting. Professor Poopyhead Collins, however has labeled me a pussy for wearing jeans that hug my masculine form in all the right places and just HAPPEN to have sequins on them. He refers to them as "LADYJEANS", since for some reason, he thinks only women could wear such amazing pants.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Mimi tried them on just for the hell of it and they fit her, I swear!

So to defend my otherwise evident maleness, I may have told an itty bitty white lie.

I came out into the main room of the loft wearing these beautiful jeans of majestic denim and rhinestones, and Collins coughed into his mug of coffee, sounding mysteriously like the word "PUSSY".

I turned my head sharply in his direction. "Ex-CUSE ME?!!" I demanded.

The smug professor chuckled, eyeing the pants. "Ex-SQUEEZE me is more like it, Roger."

"Collins." I said flatly, "STOP checking me out, ok? Seriously. I mean, I know I look REALLY HOT in them, but if you continue to gander (GOOSEY GOOSEY GOOSEY) at my new jeans and how they so perfectly show off my body, I might have to tell Angel about this."

He only laughed harder. "Hardly! I'm kind of grossed out by the feminity rolling off you in waves."

"This coming from the guy who dates a drag queen?" I snapped.

"It just doesn't suit you, Rog." Collins told me, voice serious. "Honestly, they're LADYJEANS. L-A-D-Y-J-E-A-N-S."

At this point, Maureen wandered randomly into the loft as she often does at with a glance at me, she greeted, "Nice jeans, Roger!"

"Thank you!" I exclaimed happily. "Collins was just insulting them! He called them LADYJEANS!!! Do you believe that?"

Maureen blushed and looked around awkwardly. "Um… actually, I thought maybe Collins dared you to put on a pair of Mimi's jeans or something. I was teasing, I…um… wait, are you seriously wearing those? Like…in public?"

"And what if I am?" I asked her, thoroughly irritated.

"Um… then your rocker image might suffer quite a blow, so to speak." She commented quietly.

"What do you mean?" I queried suspiciously.

"They're LADYJEANS, Roger." She confirmed in monotone.

"THEY ARE NOT FUCKING LADYJEANS!!!" I wailed. "THEY ARE OH-SO-MANLY MANJEANS WHICH CAME FROM THE MENS SECTION IN THE STORE! NOT THE LADIES! AND NOT ONLY ARE THEY MOST DEFINITELY MANJEANS, BUT I CAME ABOUT GETTING THEM IN A MOST MANLY AND BADASS WAY!" I blurted.

(PSSTT HEY DIARY THIS IS WHEN THE LIE COMES IN.)

"Oh really?" Collins asked, interested. "What's a manly badass way to obtain pants? Especially pants like that?"

"I…uh… uh… " I searched for something. "I STOLE THEM! YEAH!" Then, I instantly realized how dumb that was. "Really, Roger? That doesn't sound like something I would do at all!" I screamed at myself.

"No, that sure doesn't sound like something you would do, Roger." Maureen added, not commenting on the fact that I'd screamed at myself.

It's not like I do it often. ( GLOOOOOORRRRRRYYYY! ONE BLAZE OF GLORRRRRRRRYYYY! ) I talk to objects more, like at my tea parties. And birds, you know pigeons. And they talk back too.

Yeah… that's not creepy at all.

"Do elaborate, Missus Davis." Collins requested politely.

"You shut the fuck up." I told him. "Anyway, so I needed pants, because my plaid ones are at the dry cleaners, and as much as I love them… I just needed something to wear… so I…uh… I took a…" I glanced around the loft, seeing a plaid scarf Mimi had bought me for my last birthday. "I took my plaid scarf and I… um, wrapped it around my head since I don't have a ski mask or anything and then I borrowed Squeegee Man's squeegee for a weapon and I took the bus to the store and ran in like something out of James Bond and… I…. uh, um… tssststsstststst…." I rambled, grasping desperately for something else badass to add. "And I tackled five mall cops, and that was BEFORE I stole the pants, you know, for intimidation purposes? And then, I ripped my sleeves off, to uh… show off my guns… also an intimidation thing. And I took the scraps of fabric from my sleeves and tied up the mall cops to a pole by the food court and then… I… this old lady who was in line at Panda Express starting hitting me with her cane so I grabbed some Chinese finger traps... they had them in a basket by the soy sauce… and I grabbed a spring roll while I was at it, and stuffed it in my mouth, and then I rubbed my greasy hands all over the clothes in the store until I saw the jeans I wanted and I started to leave without paying and that thing by the door beeped at me, so I ripped out of the floor and drop-kicked into the playground area. And it dented the floor really badly… by the way the floor was PURE MULCH, that's how hard I kicked it! And I ran out the door and was chased by a pack of guard dogs which I deterred by outsmarting them… by running through the petstore and they stopped chasing me when they saw the free sample bucket of dog chow! After that, I ran outside and hijacked a motorized shopping cart and rode away, and THAT'S how I ended up here in these fucking badass MANJEANS, Collins." I ended the story, quite proud of myself.

"Wow." Maureen breathed, "I'm amazed at how fast you came up with that fake story, Roger."

"It's not fake! You believe me, right Collins?" I asked.

"It's all very convincing… but if you went to the store to get pants because you needed some to wear because your plaid ones are being dry-cleaned, then… what pants did you wear to steal the LADYJEANS?"

DAMN.

"I…uh… I robbed the store bare-assed, obviously." I said. Quick save, right? That's what I thought. "It's what all the cool juvenile deliquents are doing these days."

"Sure… ok, Roger." Collins replied.

"You only have two pairs of pants now?" Maureen piped up. "If you need some more, I have some old ones similar to those you're wearing, you can have those."

"Uh… I wear a kilt when no one's around?"

Collins burst out laughing. "A KILT?!!"

Maureen took that one in stride. "How come you never wear the kilt in public?"

"BECAUSE I'M NOT SCOTTISH!" I told her. "DUH!"

"Um… ok."

"What? I don't want the Scottish police with their friendly beards to chase me down and feed me to the Loch Ness Monster. Or worse… make me eat hagus."

From there, Diary, it all went downhill.

Mimi walked in on an escalated argument a few minutes later. "Oh, Roger! How nice of you to buy me such cute sparkly jeans! Wait, why are you wearing them?"

"THEY'RE NOT YOURS! THEY'RE MY PANTS AND THEY'RE MANLY!"

Some people just don't understand. But I know you will, Diary.

From the most Manly Man of Men in his Masculine MANJEANS,

Roger MANPANTS Elizabeth Davis

* * *

Rajah: We hit and surpassed 100 reviews!

Sarah: YAY!

Rajah: Now we need 150.

Sarah: WE WON'T UPDATE AGAIN UNTIL WE HIT 150.

Rajah: Um... don't you think that's a bit unreasonable?

Sarah: Right. Maybe. Just review, alright?


	16. With Their Fucking Spiny Prickles

Rajah:

Whoa. Ok, seriously. Not that we're not really grateful and flattered and didn't spend an afternoon gaping in awe at all the reviews we've gotten, but we didn't mean it when we threatened not to update until we hit 150 reviews. You guys are too nice and now we feel guilty and like screw-ups because you're so super amazing and we failed to come through with an update.

Sarah: Sorry about that guys...

Rajah and Sarah (together): WE'RE LAMEEEEE.

Rajah: That was creepy.

Sarah: In all seriousness, we were so busy. Finals, school, and I went to Europe.

Rajah: Lucky biatch, I just had senior year and graduation and lots of college-related things to do, yeah...

Sarah: Well the point was, I couldn't really write without Rajah, I was an ocean away.

Rajah: Where they use the metric system!!!

Sarah: They do... but I did not visit Great Britain... ahem.

Rajah: Shhhh!

Sarah: Oh no, they don't know about that yet.

Rajah: Read on, lovely people. READ ON.

* * *

Beep Beep, Diary!

You'll never believe this, Diary, but I got a job… well, kind of. I HAD a job, I don't any more, but I did. So call whoever writes history books, those MaGrawllllll Hilllllll people or whatever their company's called, and tell them: ROGER ELIZABETH DAVIS OBTAINED A REAL, TANGIBLE JOB AND IS CAPABLE OF HAVING AN OCCUPATION. Just not keeping said occupation for any significant amount of time, but able to obtain it.

So I earned some real money. And I was kind of like, WHOA WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO WITH THIS GREEN PAPER SHIT? Because I guess I never really learned how to deal with HAVING money. I held it in my hand awkwardly and brought it to my face, and it smelled funny, but… strangely, DELICIOUS. So I licked it. And the guy at the bank looked at me weird.

And then, I put it the pocket of my plaid pants. And it started burning. Okay, not literally. That would've been horrendously tragic and another reason to call the history textbook people. My butt and beautiful plaid pants savagely burned in a money fire accident. Not really. But the money burned in my pocket.

I had to do something with it.

Maybe I should back up a bit, because you don't even know what my job is… um, or was. It was actually a pretty sweet gig, and NO… I was not on Dancing with the Stars! Although that would've been epic as well… can you imagine me… my ass… dancing… in those costumes? Holy plaid, I would've won that competition… without a doubt! And you know what I would've done? Danced with a MAN. Just to be controversial, and scandadalious…. stallionous. That's always fun! And the media attention and press hype would be enough to propel me to the top and maybe get my music recognized, which would be my childhood dreams coming to fruition… oh wow, what a strategy! I've got those reality competitions figured out. After that I'd go on pretty much a tour of the other competitions and WIN them all: American Idol, Top Chef, America's Next Top Model… even The Bachelor, and of course Mimi'd be who I gave the rose to, but I'd make it seem random and stuff and the tabloids would cover my life! I'd have paparazzi stalkers! YEAH! And it'd be cool and everything. And then I'd end up with my own show like Flava Flav or that New York chick. And then Mimi can randomly pop out eight babies and we can have a TV show for that: Roger and Mimi Plus Eight.

Of course to do all that, I'd have to give up my "HERMIT AND PROUD" button and my membership to "HEY YOU DAMN KIDS GET OFF MY LAWN!" Club, but that's okay… those weren't very community-oriented organizations anyway.

I was a bus driver. That's what I was telling you!

And not just ANY bus driver, a SCHOOL BUS DRIVER.

Well I found a rather sketchy company looking for people who could drive, and I can kind of drive and stuff so I signed up and they took me. I didn't even have to take a test or anything. It was a little weird, and yeah, then I was a school bus driver.

And then they entrusted me with the lives and well being of a group of children, without asking many questions. Basically just my name. So I thought they'd look me up like some sort of FBI shit. And they didn't ask for my license either, which is also weird… my New York driver's license is long expired.

So just like that, I was a school bus driver. That simple.

I was a little surprised at how fast they said okay, I mean I don't think I have that much of a record or anything but some issues might be of some concern.

Oh well, I thought. Guess it wasn't a big deal.

Anyhow, I drove these kids around. First route was elementary school aged kids and they were ADORABLE. So fucking cute, oh my GOD! Thankfully none of them threw up or cried, because that would not be cute, and I wouldn't know what to do. They were such cutie pies, Diary.

The middle scholars on the second route were all big brats. Like, I don't know. But I had to tolerate them. They would yell and scream about nonsense and I don't even know what the hell the hullabaloo was about but seriously. Like a flock…. (no not flock, that's weird… that's like pigeons and pigeons are a positive thing so I guess SCHOOL as in school of fish since I don't like fish as much, they're rather yucky) of HARPIES shrieking or something. I was like, "Damn it, don't you kids have musical devices you could listen to rather than scream your heads off?"

There was one kid who didn't scream, so I automatically liked him. He didn't seem to fit in very much with the others. He always sat up front near me, and his name was Freddie. He loved chess and he'd talk my ear off about it… he was pretty much a chess genius and I can play chess pretty well now thanks to him telling me so much about it.

The high scholars in the late afternoon were cool. They were like people I'd hang out with if I were in high school. So one time after their school ended, instead of taking them directly to their stops, I took them on an impromptu field trip to the supermarket… K-Roger's to be exact. And I let them buy ice cream and candy. And I picked out some for the middle-scholars… CANDY CANES! Even though it's October… they were on sale, okay? Stale, from last Christmas, and cheap as hell… but perfect for those brats! Oh, and some Popsicles too. Specifically because I knew they'd melt. Hahaha, I'm evil. I picked out some Fun-Dip for the cute elementary kids, of course.

The little kids were so excited about their candy, and so cute about it, hahah they looked at me like I was their hero! And they rubbed the powdery-Fun-Dip stuff on their tongues and it changed colors!!! IT WAS SO CUTE!!!

Then, came the middle-scholars. I saved Freddie a Fun-Dip and slipped to him, secretively… kind of like The Man would slip someone drugs, but it was candy, so it's all-good. He seemed a little weirded out, so I don't think people do stuff like that for him. So it felt good to put a smile on his face.

And those other kids… ugh! I gave them the candy canes. And they screamed and yelled. And called me stupid for buying them stale crap, as if I didn't know that when I bought it. So I revealed the melted Popsicles and one of the kids got really prissy and snotty with me about that, so I threw one at him. I missed and sure enough, melted Popsicle juice was dripping down one of the vacant seats.

"YOU KIDS ARE SO UNGRATEFUL! I COULD'VE NOT GOTTEN YOU A DAMN THING BECAUSE ALL YOU DO ON MY BUS IS SCREAM AND YELL LIKE FUCKING HARPIES! YOU'RE LIKE URCHINS, URCHINS THAT LIVE IN THE FUCKING OCEAN WITH THEIR FUCKING SPINY PRICKLES AND POISON! YOU POISONED MY BRAIN AND MY DAY AND PRETTY MUCH MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE! I HATE YOU ALL! AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M STOPPING THIS BUS! YOU CAN FUCKING WALK HOME! EXCEPT FREDDIE!!! AW, FREDDIE YOU'RE NOT AN URCHIN! YOU'RE A FREAKING AMAZING GENIUS BOY THAT ISN'T A HARPIE! AND … YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE? YOU'RE SUCH….KLHGLKHSDFLKGHLKDJFHGLKJGXDLGKFJGALDKGKAJDSBGKJAGDKLGJADKJBGLKDSGKASDLKGJASDKJGASKDJG;SEMICOLON;.HGVHYFTGBCVTYGUHCRTFYGUJHVTF GHNJJ NBFGHNVMYBYNU………DFBS,DKJ……. T-BANGS!"

And I did stop the bus. I took Freddie home. Those kids walked.

Miracle I didn't get fired the day after that.

And I felt dumb because I used my entire first paycheck on that… on the nice field trip and candy and stuff. And all I got was anger… and melted Popsicle all sticky on one of the seats of my bus.

I lasted to get another paycheck.

This is the part where Mimi lectured me about not being financially responsible and stuff. Because I spent it dollar by dollar in different places. Which in hindsight, wasn't effective or anything, but I was curious to see just how far a dollar would go in different places…

One place… I bought a whole hamburger. It was McDonald's. From the Value Menu.

And Taco Bell… I got a taco for only eighty nine cents, so I had change left over, and I tried pocketing that but it burned like a wildfire in my pants. So I dropped the change in a hobo's hat on the sidewalk. While he was still wearing it… in the brim. Randomly. I don't even know if he was homeless or if he was just tying his shoe… but either way, I gave him eleven cents.

Then I went to Target and headed straight for the dollar section, where everything is basically only a dollar. I bought a foam sword… for a dollar! It was so incredible.

Then I went to a dollar store and I bought a tea set. Just a tea pot and a plate… and they were miniature, but it was still awesome. It had a design on it: a little Chinese lady in a kimono. It reminded me of Mimi, even though, yeah… she was Asian. I thought she was cute, ok?

After that, I decided to check out a used bookstore. I got a really ratty version of _Anthem_ by Ayn Rand. That's a shitty book, people… seriously I could write better: I couldn't even get through the whole thing… she didn't use the word "I" or any of the other pronouns, just "we" everywhere. "WE WE WE WE WE!" Ugh, she can't write. That's basic kindergarten shit right there. Come on.

Fortunately, it came with a bonus. There was a random ripped off page of Harry Potter shoved in there. I read that too, and it pissed me off because apparently there's a character named Roger Davies. WHAT THE FUCK. O.K. ROWLING, ARE YOU SERIOUS? YOU STOLE MY NAME AND ADDED AN "E" TO IT! LIKE YOU STOLE MY NAME BY HALF A MILLILITER… SINCE I KNOW YOU USE THE METRIC SYSTEM IN GREAT ENGLAND!!!

Yeah, that was uncool of her, and the character was LAME.

I bought an ice cream at a little dollar ice cream stand by the park. Yummy.

I went to an elegant wine shop just to see what I could get for a dollar, and they gave me a little sample tiny shot-like thing of wine. They looked a bit miffeled with me.

And then Mark and Mimi sat me down and gave me this long talk about how I needed to not waste my paychecks and maybe help pay the rent. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH… YADDA FISCAL RESPONSIBLY… BLAHDEE BLAH… BENNY YADDA YADDA… HE'S A SHITHOLE… BLAHDAYADDA… HIS HAIR FELL OUT… BLAH BLAH BLAH…. HE'S A BALD UGLY MAN… BLAHBLAH… MUFFY'S CHEATING ON HIM BECAUSE HE'S SO EFFIN NASTY… BLAH DEE BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Unfortunately, I couldn't use my third paycheck to do that, because by then, the school system found out the company that employed me wasn't doing full background checks on their driver's and that I didn't have a bus license or anything and all that. So I got "let go" and the kids got a day off from school while all the bus drivers got reviewed.

Sigh.

Oh well it was fun while it lasted and it added a great chapter to my life. I feel as though this experience has expanded my repertoire and my nonexistent resume has something on it besides hermit, band member, and bar tender for 3 days. I really feel as though this has extended my horizons. I feel as though I have no boundaries. I can be a bus drive. I can be anything.

Here's to you Diary,

Roger Elizabeth Davis (I almost put Davies God Dammit!)

* * *

Sarah: We hereby dedicate this to our incredible reviewers and fans because they're awesome. And sorry again.

Rajah: And also to our super fun bus driver who took us on a field trip to Kroger's in real life. AWESOME.

Sarah: So... not that we're lacking in reviews, but uhhhh... DID YOU MISS US?

rajah: (big sad eyes) Don't you love us?


	17. Why Is It A Baby Head?

Rajah: We suck monkey cheese and manatee shit. We're losers. You should hate us.

Sarah: We are sooooooo sorry for not updating this story for forever. Merry Christmas!!! Here's a chapter.

Rajah: We weren't in the same city, that's our excuse for not writing.

Sarah: Now we are.

Rajah: ENJOY!

* * *

Helloooooooooooo Diary!

I hate spray-on Coppertone sun tan lotion, it sucks monkey cheese and manatee shit. They gave it to me free at Wal-Mart. That's just what I get for trusting something free at Wal-Mart. I look like a fucking lobster!! I could work at Red Lobster... and be like... THE LOBSTER!!

This Santa Fe place isn't working out at all! Man, everyone here is red!! Well, not everyone! Because there's Mimi-colored people here and Collins-colored people here too, and I think they still get sunburns but they don't turn red like I did. Lucky bastards!! Wait, so do mixed colored people turn pink? Like pink lemonade! Ooooh lemonade, yummy! That's such a sassy color. Are they little sassafrasses when they get a sunburn? And what about like... thatCablinasian guy... what's his name again? Um, Lion Woods? Cougar? NOOOO CHEETAH! It's Cheetah Woods, right? Anyway, what about him? He's a golfer and everything, always out in the sun! So what color does he turn - because he's like part Asian-colored like that window-washer named Telly that I always see and Collins-colored and um, part American ninja colored and me-colored too! When Cheetah Woods gets a sunburn - does he turn like a diluted pink? Like a dead flamingo? Oooooooooh dear, dead flamingos crack me up!! So do Teletubbies. Especially their sun that's a baby head - WHY IS IT A BABY HEAD???!! Seriously, it's hilarious... why would you do that??? I mean oh my God what? It's a giggling baby for fuck's sake, it goes like AHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHA... and then I go AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAH!!!!

But wait no. I'm mad. I'm really pissed. Because I'm red like a lobster, as was previously discussed. If the me-colored people here CHOOSE to be red, I mean that's cool and everything but it's not working for me, alright? It clashes with my hair and plaid pants. And how can I go without my plaid pants for more than ten hours?!!!! I CAN'T!!! They're the source of my rocketpower... so how am I supposed to write a song without my rocketpower, huh???!!!!

Plus it hurts to move, and I'm like... all splotchy. This isn't cool. It feels like every inch of my body is on fire. RA RA RA AH AH ROMA RO MA MA GAGA OOH LALA!!!! T-BANGS! That happened to my cousin once... literally he was burning all over. He's in a body suit now, it's pretty sweet.

It would be weird if I went back to New York and I still had this sunburn. I mean, it's winter. I'd be like, walking down the street and some guy would slap me on the back and say "HEY BUDDY! That's a great red suit you got there!" And I'd scream "AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" in pain and yell, "It's a sunburn YOU IDIOT!!!" Wait, but wouldn't I have to naked for him to see that I was entirely red? Hmmmm.

Well anyways I bet Collins wouldn't stop making fun of me, either. He'd press his fingers into my back and watch it make different colored splotchy smiley faces and call me chameleon man. Then Mark would go into some long story about all his horrible sunburns.... stupid albino pumpkinhead!!

Mark doesn't just turn red like I am now - he turns like NEON RED. STOP SIGN RED. And he glows and gives off heat... like a little oven! And so one time when he got sunburned on the beach really bad, I sat out on the sand with him at night when it was colder and warmed my hands by holding them out in front of him and I roasted a marshmallow and sizzled an egg on his back. I don't know how much fun Mark was having then - he kept groaning... what a Debbie Downer! It was soooo cool! Mark was a rock lobster!

We were at a party, his ear lobe fell in the deep. Someone reached in and grabbed it

It was a rock lobster! We were at the beach, everybody had matching towels - somebody went under a dock... and there they saw a rock!! It wasn't a rock - it was a rock lobster! Motion in the ocean, his air hose broke, lots of trouble, lots of bubble, he was in a jam, s'in a giant clam, down, down! Underneath the waves, mermaids wavin'... wavin' to mermen! Wavin' sea fans, sea horses sailin'... dolphins wailin', red snappers snappin', clam shells clappin', muscles flexin', flippers flippin'! Down, down - let's rock! Boys in bikinis, girls in surfboards, everybody's rockin', everybody's fruggin'! Twistin' 'round the fire, havin' fun, bakin' potatoes... bakin' in the sun! Put on your noseguard, put on the Lifeguard, pass the tanning butter... here comes a stingray! There goes a manta-ray! In walked a jelly fish, there goes a dog-fish, chased by a cat-fish! In flew a sea robin... watch out for that piranha! There goes a narwhale - HERE COMES A BIKINI WHALE!

I wonder if that Cheetah Woods guy turns purple? Like grape drank! You can get that at K-Roger's.

But I can't stand this god-forsaken place anymore!!! All these lobsters! Can't write a song... except maybe a song about lobsters, but come the fuck on, who would ever write a song about lobsters? Impossible and stupid... it would never happen. Especially if it were a song about rock lobsters.

You know, rocks that are shaped like lobsters?

I WANNA GO HOOOOOMMMMEEEE! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! I WANT MY OZONEEEEE... I MEAN MOMMY!!!

Not only am I red and lobster-like, I think I'm delusional too. Because I keep seeing Mimi everywhere... and she's not here. She's somewhere in New York probably... I mean yeah, I didn't leave with our relationship on good terms, but if she were to come here... I think she'd look me up and stuff... at least I hope she would. And why would she come here if she didn't come here for me - unless she has relatives here? I don't think she does, though. Maybe she would come for the good relish... there's good relish here. But I saw her on this random rock ledge type thing when I went for a hike to sing to myself... and no one was around.... so weird. I think I need to go back to New York and find the real Mimi... instead of seeing all these fake ones.

But shit man... what if it's like those super powered people and I like see the real Mimi but then I also see a bunch of fake Mimis around her? Then I wouldn't know which one is the real one and I try to talk to her but I really end up taking to the empty air. But since its not really her super power she wouldn't know that I was seeing mulitples and would think I was snubbing her, or think I was drunk or something. Or worse she would think I was really insane when I am really faking it and agree with King Claudius and have me sent to England. But I won't be sent to England for a change of scenery, I'll really be sent to my death. Although, I guess it would be okay because I know that Rosencratz and Frankenstein aren't real friends so it would tip me off. So I could trade the letter calling for my death with one calling for theirs and use my dad's royal seal to make it officially-looking. Fortunately pirates will be attacking the ship and I can catch a ride back to Denmark and dispose of Claudius once and for all. It's a good thing that I've seen this play, or most of it... I left before the last scene but I'm sure it has a happy ending with me marrying Mimi... although then she'd be my mom which is kinda gross but you know that incest was suggested.

So I guess what I'm saying is... whether I see fake Mimis when I get back or not, it'll be okay... and I need to go back because I'm red. Maybe I'll peel on the bus ride home and Collins won't make of me though. I'm sure Mark will still tell his sunburn story though... he always tells it parties and stuff and brings it up all the time. It's not funny Mark, shut up you stupid albino!!! Damn him.

I love you. And that's not awkward,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

(Oh snap, I remembered that Woods guy's name - Elijah Woods.)

* * *

Rajah: If you have any respect left at all for us...

Sarah: Or at least like the random references to Hamlet and such...

Rajah: Or merely appreciate Roger's random tangents in general...

Sarah: REVIEW!!!

Rajah: Please and thank you.


	18. DocMenTerriers

Sarah: Two entries in a twenty four hour period!!! WOOHOOO!

Rajah: Even though that doesn't make up for our months of absence. Enjoy this anyway, please.

Sarah: I suppose we can say Happy New Year with this one?

* * *

Damn Diary,

Cocka-doodle-moooo! Don't worry I'm a chicken-cow! Well actually I'm just really sneaking sneaking. Sneakin' and a creepen' like a creeper creepie Creep. Well let me set up this story. So Mark got this new haircut sttttttttttt... and it's well, a bit feminine... no, that's not the right word... uh... let's see how should I say this... ? Well... it's gay. And I don't mean that in "oh it looks stupid so let's call it gay because I'm a fart mouth dick for brains", I mean literally - his hair is homosexual! Like I saw it looking at my hair the other day and I was like 'whoa whoa whoa, his hair is checking my hair out!'

Our hair shared a moment and I'm not sure if I liked it because I've known Mark's hair for a very long time and I've never seen this side of it. It was like... if his collection of dead skin particles wanted my collection of dead skin particles. Sort of awkward. Weird. It made me uncomfortable. So naturally, I stole his diary.

You see, I wanted to find out if his hair was effecting his brain... so I didn't take the whole thing - just ripped out a page, the last entry, you know. So I pasted it in here and fortunately his pages are smaller than mine - he uses a little black note pad which concerned me. You see, that seems a little gay compared to you, Diary. I mean what's more masculine than writing in my full-paged Ahola Gato (Hello Kitty) Diary?

Here's the entry I found: (With my analysis in the margarines. I didn't find anything about his homosexual hair in it at all. Which is weird becuase I talk about my hair all the time in here but Mark didn't even mention his hair at all, probabally because its greesey. But anyway I pasted it in here to show you how lame it is.)

(Author's Note: We put in a section of Mark's diary entry followed by Roger's analysis and then continued with Mark's writing...)

-Journal Entry Number 42409 May 7, 9:08 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

Temp. 50 F, Humidity: 20 per. cent, Pressure 29.98 in. Hg

(You see that's how inpersonal Mark is. What a lame dicky duck! He has no form of a greeting to his Diary. He doesn't even call it a diary! He calls it a journal! WHA DA FUHC! And he's a liar - there is no way there was 42409 entries in there- there may have been like 157 at most, but really who is he trying to kid? I mean, really! And goes on to list the shit about the time and weather... why? Why would that be included and he puts all that shit in there but not even the year?!?! What a dumb fuck! And why would you put all of that in to a Diary if it wasn't relevant to a story or a tangent of a story? I like tangerines by the way. Anyhow, this is an unacceptable way to greet a good friend like a diary. or should I say "Journal"...... LAME!!!!)

I, Marcgrette Mary Cohen, am considering...

(WAIT! WAIT WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! WAIT THE WHISPER SONG! HOLD BACK YOUR HORSIES AND TAKE NOTE OF MARK'S REALLLLLLL NAME! His is Marcgrette Mary... and I thought Roger Elizabeth was bad... what were his parents smoking? And where can I get some? This poor child - no wonder he turned out how he did.)

.... getting a tattoo of a scarf on my neck. The pros to this are:

1.) having a scarf on my neck if I ever lose my Scarfolamew

2.) looking badass

3.) possibly getting a girlfriend because I look badass.

(Um... ok how will a tattoo scarf keep him warm like a real scarf would? I don't understand the purpose! I don't know where he got the idea that chicks would dig a tattoo of scarf unless maybe it looked like a snake? Which would just be really scary... I mean really? What the fuck Mark... or should I say "Marcgrette"? And the same thing with this badass idea - he would just look dumb. What is he trying to be edgy? Like that Lady Googoo Gaga? Doing a bunch of things people haven't seen before? Like maybe Mark should follow her lead and stop wearing pants? I mean I've heard shes does it so that her grandmother will be able to see her so I guess she's considering the old ladies when she doesn't wear pants. Which is actually quite nice of her... but why would Mark want old ladies to look at him? Maybe "Marcgrette" is leading more of a double life then I thought. He's always making those funny DOC- MEN- TERRIERS! OH shit what if he's making porn of Male Doctors with Terriers like the name suggests!??)

The cons are:

1.) people wouldn't understand the purpose

2.) Collins would make fun of me

3.) Roger would be afraid of me (he already has issues with Scarfolamew fearing that is was a snake)

4.) It would be extremely painful

(Exactly, Mark! People don't understand the purpose! No one would - and yes, Collins WOULD make fun of you! I WOULD TOO! Why does he think I'd be afraid? I'd laugh my ass off, I'm not afraid of anything, I'm fearless!!! How dare he suggest I'd be scared!!! !!!! !!!! T-BANGS!!!! Speaking of which, Diary... have I ever explained the origin of t-bangs? Well, a t-bang is when a tea party explodes. When I say "t-bangs" I am referencing one time when I was having a tea party with my friends, you know how I do that, and a tragic event occurred and my old microwave Mike exploded because I accidentally put utensils in there. It was sad, I was down one guest to my tea party then, and I didn't have a microwave until we got Scarlet, our new one. So whenever I say "t-bangs" it is to accent my extreme frustration or anger with something or someone and to remind myself not to put utensils inside Scarlet because then she'll explode my tea party!)

Well, because there are more pros than cons, I, Marcgrette Mary Cohen will NOT get a scarf tattoo. I am however, still considering the name change.

(Thank GOD!!!! That was the lamest piece of literature I have ever read. I mean, where was the structure of the story? Where was the beginning? Where was the end? Where were the useful tangents? Diary, you should be very glad I write within your pages because then you would be bored and boring. Anyway, I love you and I'm glad I exist. I wish I had a giant orange though.)

Sunshine and butterflies,

Roger Elizabeth Davis

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Rajah: Kay... so what did you think?

Sarah: PLLLEEEAASSEEE TELL US!


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